


When The Dust Settles

by oceans4jinyoung



Series: When The Dust Settles [2]
Category: GOT7
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Video Game World, Angst, Dual Narratives, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Seoul, Streamers - Freeform, Tuanzy, Video game company
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:14:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 76,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28475253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceans4jinyoung/pseuds/oceans4jinyoung
Summary: Video game streamer Mark Tuan, better known online as Tuanzy, is just trying to get by after being forced to step down from the pro-gaming scene.  But when the trailer for a new post-apocalyptic, narrative-driven game called When the Dust Settles drops, fans are quick to notice that the companion character bares a striking resemblance to the streamer himself.  When Mark gets entangled with the gaming studio, he meets game director, Park Jinyoung, whose intimidating presence leaves more questions than answers and Mark is eager to uncover the mystery.When Baby Blue comes to, he barely has a name, a story.  But knowing he won’t make it in the barren wastelands, aptly named the Dust, alone, he pleads to ride along with Z, the red-haired insurgent who saved him.  Z reluctantly lets the Dust bunny tag along, introducing him to a cast of characters who are readying themselves for a rebellion against the governing corporation, Lark Industries, in the nearby neon metropolis, Nova City.  Blue doesn’t know when Z’s fight became his too but regardless, now they are in this together.
Relationships: Choi Youngjae/Mark Tuan, Kunpimook Bhuwakul | BamBam/Im Jaebum | JB, Park Jinyoung/Mark Tuan
Series: When The Dust Settles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2077632
Comments: 112
Kudos: 129





	1. "Let's Wake Him Up"

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the **Spotify playlist** for this story.
> 
> [Playing Games](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2rYMiszPf0FSECxskT7DUC?si=_kGmHEYoR9K2r29MRDLBMw)
> 
> Come yell at me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/oceans4jinyoung) and [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/oceans4jinyoung)!! OR Support me on [Ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/oceans4jinyoung)!

Mark didn’t even remember waking up. No, what he remembered was the ringing. His eyes blinking open, looking up at the dull white of his ceiling. And the ringing in his ears kept getting louder and louder until he was able to recognize it as his phone. He sat up on the couch, groggy and squinting his eyes at his gaming desk across the room.

The webcam was set right on him, the image of his own face staring back on the screen. A line of comments in the chat coming in like rapid fire.

Oh, right. He was live. 

He sighed, reaching for his phone on the desk and picking it up. “Hello?” he answered, rubbing his eyes.

“Bro!” Jackson’s voice boomed. “You said a twenty-four hour stream! What are you _doing_?”

Mark sighed. “I know, I know,” he said, stretching his neck out. It always got a bit of a crick when he fell asleep on this couch. “I was just closing my eyes for a minute.”

“A minute?” Jackson questioned. “It’s been two hours according to your comments section.”

“Fuck,” Mark groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked up to the computer, waving and forcing a smile, “Sorry, guys.”

“Plus,” Jackson said. “Check your viewer count.”

Mark got up, holding the phone to his ear as he came closer to the desk. He leaned over, looking at the number count. Watching it rise higher and higher by the second. It was already three times his average for this time of day. “Who are all of you?” he murmured, eyes scanning the comments.

_He’s up!_  
_FINALLY. We can see his FACE._  
_Is that the guy? The one from the game?_  
_WOAH the resemblance!!_  
_Super handsome_  
_He MUST have done motion capture for Higher Games_

“Jackson,” he spoke into the phone. “What are they talking about?”

His friend laughed. “Ask them yourself.”

And before Mark could snap back at him, the line went dead. He sighed. Putting the phone down and taking a seat at his desk. He pulled on his headset. “Good morning, everyone,” he adjusted the microphone.

_OW my ears are bleeding_  
_rip headphone users_

He groaned. “Yeah, yeah,” he waved. “I know my headset is shit. I’m working on getting a new one.” His eyes panned back down to that viewer count, watching it go higher and higher. 

“Uh,” he stalled, biting down on his lips. “...Welcome. To all the new people. Um. This is my channel.” He tried to think, but that ever increasing number was just getting the better of any mental process. He let out a pent up breath. “I’m sorry. I have to address it,” he admitted. “Why are you all here?”

_Trailer just went LIVE._  
_Watch it, Tuanzy man!_  
_You have to see it!_  
_React to it!!_

The same comments just kept repeating over and over again. He furrowed his brows, “You guys want me to watch something?”

_When the Dust Settles_  
_the dust game_  
_when the dust settles_  
_Look it up!_  
_new higher games release, bro_

“Okay, okay,” he nodded. “Gimme a second.” He clicked around, starting to share his screen as he went to Youtube, typing When the Dust Settles into the search bar. The page loaded, his eyes scanning the first result.

_When the Dust Settles - Cinematic Trailer_  
_25 mins ago_

“This it?” he asked, cursor circling around the thumbnail. Watching the chat spit out a plethora of positive responses. “Alright,” he settled into his gaming chair. “I’m watching.”

He clicked the video, putting it full screen. He sat back in his chair, putting his feet up onto his desk.

The black screen went sky blue, the sound of wind whistling in the background. The camera panned down to a realistically animated desert scene. A gas station that looked decrepit, vintage. Like something out of time. Outside, a red car sat, a person sitting on the hood, while two more stood in front. The camera progressively drawing forwards, creeping in to overhear their conversation.

“King,” said the figure on the hood. His face was turned away but from behind, he was wearing a red leather jacket, bright red hair glinting in the desert sun. “I need you to download anything that looks like it may be of use to us. Schematics, blueprints, schedules, anything.”

The silver haired figure nodded, smooth, handsome face smiling confidently. “Can do.”

“And Dandy,” he said, turning to the other one, looking up at his taller height, his yellow hair. “You need to see if you can find any written record. I heard he has a couple of locked file cabinets in there. Figure out why they are locked.”

“Yes, sir,” the man saluted.

The red haired man was still turned away from the animator’s lens. “I’m going to get the power online and then keep watch. Got it?”

“Got it,” the two responded in tandem.

Dandy hit King’s shoulder playfully, “I bet I can pick every lock in this place before you pass the first encryption.”

King smirked, “You’re on.”

“Go,” the leader commanded. “Let’s get this done and get out of here. There have been too many Crow sightings in this area already.”

The two laughed, jogging onward into the building. And as they did, the camera circled around, facing the figure on the car. His red bangs sweeping across his tanned face, dark eyes watching on with a glint of pride, the smallest workings of a smile across his face.

Mark’s eyes peripherally saw the chat explode on his other monitor, messages shooting off in thick walls of text.

_IT’S TUANZY!_  
_HOLY HELL_  
_TWINS_

Mark sat up, taking a closer look at the trailer. He paused the video on the character’s face. “This guy?” he circled his cursor around the man. “You think we look alike?”

_DOUBLE VISION_  
_WTF IS GOING ON?_

Mark shrugged. “I don’t really see it,” he said dismissively. But the comments just kept flooding in multiple languages, all the same. Mark stared at the chat, completely perplexed by the wave of attention. 

“Guys,” he smiled. “Come on. What is this about?” He watched, not seeing any change in the topic. “Is this your way of telling me to dye my hair red?”

_omg I would pass away_  
_DO IT DO IT DO IT_  
_❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️_  
_keep watching!_

“Alright, alright.” Mark pressed play, focusing back on the trailer as the camera finished its half circle. Background coming into focus on the expanse of desert that lay beyond the car. And from the camera’s vantage point, there was a singular white dot. Weaving a slow trail down the sandy slope. Maybe a person in the distance, coming closer.

Mark watched as the man on the car twisted around, looking behind him. His head angling upward to spot that white speck just as it stopped in its tracks. Wavering on their feet for just a moment before falling over.

The man jumped from the car, eyes still settled on the horizon as everything slowed. Going slow motion as the background blurred out of focus in favor of the man’s strong shoulders outlining his jacket, his red hair feathering in the desert breeze. That figure in the sand too hazy to make out.

Overlaying the visuals, the audio of that desert wind stayed constant. The same man’s voice speaking over it. “Who are you?” he said, voice raw and full of force. But then, it was something softer, whispering alongside the desert wind. “Who are you?”

The screen went black. _When The Dust Settles,_ it read. _Coming This Spring._

“Hmm,” Mark hummed. “Cool trailer,” he remarked, clicking off of the video and switching his settings. Watching his own image expand on the screen. He shrugged, “But not really my kind of game.” 

“So,” he clapped his hands, rubbing them together. “What do you guys want to watch me play this morning?”

A few hours later, Mark finished the stream. But by that night, he had an email at the top of his inbox. 

_Mr. Tuan,_

_I hope the new year is finding you well. Our marketing team has recently been made aware of some connections that have been drawn between you and our upcoming release, When The Dust Settles. We see that this could perhaps be a profitable opportunity for both of us. If you would like to get involved, please feel free to reach out to me personally at this email._

_Kim Yugyeom_  
_Marketing Officer_  
_Higher Games_

Mark stared at it, rereading it twice before checking the email address to see if it was spam. He read it once more. Before relocating it into his trash folder. Because surely, someone must have been messing with him. 

And if they weren’t?

Well. 

He still wasn’t interested.

The next day, he was relaxing at home when his phone rang. He looked to the screen, seeing an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” said a cheery voice on the other end. “Is this Mr. Mark Tuan?”

Mark went tense, “Who is this?”

“This is Kim Yugyeom, marketing officer at Higher Games?” he said. “I reached out to you via email yesterday evening.”

“How did you get my number?”

The man was silent for a long pause, “From a mutual contact.”

“Who?”

He ignored him, drawing in a breath before continuing to speak. “I wanted to potentially bring you into the office this week. I think we have some great ideas at the company-”

“Sorry,” Mark shook his head. “I’m not interested.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not interested,” he repeated. And as the silence fell, he felt the awkwardness burn right through him. “But. Thank you for reaching out,” he added. “Bye bye.”

“Wait, Mr-”

He hung up, looking down at his phone for a long moment. Wondering what the hell was going on.

Just then, there was a knocking at his apartment door. Mark sighed, thankful for any form of distraction. He tossed his phone onto the couch, going to the front door.

Jackson was standing on the other side, holding up a new Balenciaga tee to his chest. The tags still dangling from the collar. “Hey, can I borrow this?” he asked, looking down at it. “We have that conference coming up and I think this will fit me.”

“It won’t fit you,” Mark said bluntly. He raised a brow, “But why are you asking me?”

“Because it’s yours,” Jackson remarked. “You got a package today,” he said, slipping past Mark and into his apartment uninvited. “Guess who it’s from?”

Mark rolled his eyes. “I know who it's from,” he said. “Hand it over.”

“Not fair,” Jackson whined, tossing it to him as he collapsed onto the couch. “Why doesn’t your anon subscriber send me nice expensive gifts? I’m a cute streamer too.”

“Because,” Mark smirked, holding up the shirt and admiring it. “There’s a lot of streamers out there. But only one Tuanzy.”

Mark’s phone started to buzz on the couch. The same unknown number as before. He stared at it, paralyzed.

“Are you going to get that?” Jackson asked, raising a brow.

Mark blinked. “No,” he shook his head. “It’s just spam.” 

Jackson dismissed it, crossing his arms in a pout. “So I can’t wear that shirt to the conference?”

“Nope,” Mark said, turning the tag over and seeing a little blue heart sticker. “I’m wearing it.”

\---

Seoul’s biggest video game conference only came once every January. A massive spectacle that drew in players, creators, and businessmen from across the globe. And as Mark navigated around the convention center, he was trying not to feel those four missed calls burning a hole through his pocket. Or the six ignored emails stacked in his recycle bin, each with increasingly more urgent subject lines. None of which he took the time to read.

 _Come to Hall 4. QUICK,_ read Jackson’s text as Mark dropped his snow-dusted jacket at the coat check. He walked through the hall, trying to recall the path. Everything looked so eerily similar to last year. And he briefly remembered being shuffled around behind the scenes by hired security, doing panels and photo-ops with eager fans. But maybe more than that, he remembered fingers intertwined, running from the crowds. Finding solace in fancy hotel rooms where no one could hear them. He remembered navigating this same space, not as a fan, but a celebrity. And not alone, but with someone at his side.

And almost as if fate had some sick, twisted sense of humor, he heard someone calling out from behind him.

“Is that a little Tuanzy I see?”

And the voice tipped Mark off immediately. Having to fight off the childish instinct to run and hide. He took a deep breath, turning and watching exactly the person he’d been picturing walking up with a security guard at his side.

“Youngjae,” Mark breathed, forcing a tight smile. “Hey.”

The man smiled. Bright eyes giving off their usual charming glint. Arms crossing over his chest, a myriad of VIP badges dangling from his neck. “It’s good to see you in Seoul again,” he said, cheerfully. “When did you get back from California?”

Mark swallowed, “A few months ago.”

“It’s still Tuanzy, right?” Youngjae said, narrowing his eyes. “You are still playing games?”

“I’m at a gaming conference,” Mark said, perhaps a little sharper than he intended.

Youngjae’s smile staled a little, that glint in his eyes going smug. “How is streaming?”

“It’s fine,” Mark shrugged. “Great, actually.”

“Sponsors must be treating you well,” Youngjae laughed, beckoning to his shirt. “Still keeping up with the Balenciaga releases, I see.”

Mark shook his head, “I don’t accept sponsors.”

“Huh,” Youngjae tilted his head. “Why’s that?”

And Mark knew the reason, but he wasn’t about to say it. “I just don’t.”

Youngjae licked his lips. “So,” he looked him up and down. “You don’t miss the esports scene?” he asked, making it sound like an accusation.

“Nope,” Mark shook his head. “I’m quite happy with what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, right,” Youngjae scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You used to be Team Seoul’s secret weapon from the States. Had the whole gaming industry at your feet. But you decided to leave it all behind to pursue a streaming career.” 

Mark felt his face go tight in a glare, heat pricking down the back of his neck. “I didn’t leave anything,” he snapped. “Team Captain Aura didn’t like sharing the spotlight and ended my contract and our relationship within the same day.”

Youngjae laughed, deep and callous, “And now, you stream yourself playing the same games I win grand prize money for.” He scrunched his nose, ”No wonder you sound so bitter.” 

Mark stared him down, fuming.

“Come on, Mark,” Youngjae softened, stepping forward and reaching for Mark’s arm. “Tell me you don’t miss it. Not even just a little?”

Mark pulled his arm away. “I don’t miss it,” he said, firmly. “So if you don’t mind, I have a presentation to make.” He started to turn away.

“Is it true?” Youngjae called out, “What they are saying? Are you teaming up with Higher Games?”

Mark stilled, looking back at him. “Where did you hear that?”

Youngjae shrugged, “Everyone’s talking about it.”

Mark stared, trying to piece it together. Where would people even be hearing that? Why would they think that?

“So, is it true?” Youngjae asked, stepping closer. “Did they design that character after you?”

Mark couldn’t answer his questions. They didn’t even compute to him. So he just stayed firm. “See you around, Youngjae,” he murmured before walking away.

 _HURRY UP,_ Jackson texted him a moment later. _I’m in the fourth row, center._

By the time Mark got to the hall, whatever presentation was going on had already started, leaving the room dark. Mark squinted his eyes, trying to locate Jackson among the crowd of thousands. Finding his row and having to awkwardly squeeze through a half dozen people. He whispered apologies, trying not to step on toes, before he took the seat next to his friend.

“Where have you been?” Jackson hissed, trying to be as covert as possible. “You missed the whole introduction!”

Mark sighed, “I ran into someone.”

“Oh no,” Jackson’s shoulders fell. “Don’t tell me it starts with Au and ends in Ra.”

Mark waved his hand dismissively. “It’s fine. Youngjae can go on living his pro gamer fantasy. Lead the Korean team to another championship. I’m doing fine on my own,” he assured him, ignoring the presumptive stare of Jackson’s eyes. “What’s so important about this presentation anyway?” 

And when he raised his eyes to the stage, he saw the logos behind the presenters. The intertwining blue and red arrows that made up the H in Higher Games. Mark’s shoulders fell, glare snapping over towards Jackson. 

His friend shrugged, feigning innocence, “Don’t act like you aren’t curious.”

“I’m not,” he said firmly.

“Shh,” Jackson hit his arm, pointing up to the stage. “Pay attention,” 

Mark looked up to the stage, seeing two men standing side by side. Both of them dressed formally. One with a black mullet with silver jewelry along his ears that shined in the bright stage lights. The other with pink and purple streaks intermingling in his hair, fingernails painted a deep black. 

“So,” the dark haired one spoke. “As the technical lead,” he motioned to himself. “And the artistic lead,” he motioned to the other man. “We wanted to introduce the mastermind behind our newest release. I was privileged enough to work under his late father when he ran the company and I see just the same creative passion from his heir today.”

“So,” the other man spoke up, smiling wide. “Without further ado, our CEO and the director for our upcoming release, When the Dust Settles. Mr. Park Jinyoung.”

The stage faded to black and the crowd erupted into applause, spirited woohoos, and deafening screams. The two men left the stage while the screens that spread across the width of the hall went blue. The same sky blue, beautiful and open wide. Same desert setting, every texture like something you could reach out and touch. The whole room feeling a few degrees warmer even in the middle of winter. It was the same cinematic trailer as the one online. Only this time, the whistling desert winds were accompanied by the cheers of the crowd as a man stepped out onto the stage. He was dressed in an all black suit, dark hair quaffed away from his face. His expression so stoic and calm as he stood in the middle. The crowd continued to cheer, spreading a small smile across his face.

Mark was quiet, staring up at the man. Wondering if he’d ever really seen the head of Higher Games before, knowing it wasn’t a company he typically followed. He hadn’t expected the CEO to be so young. And he also hadn’t expected him to be so striking. The game company CEOs Mark had met before when he was competing were all middle aged gamers. More likely to be found in jeans and a nerdy t-shirt than in an expensive looking suit. And everything about this Park Jinyoung character was immediately standing out from anything Mark had ever known.

“Thank you, thank you,” the man nodded, as the crowd died down. The hall fell silent and Mr. Park seemed to bask in the openness of it for a purposeful moment before he began to speak. “Higher Games has always been committed to telling compelling stories, presenting complex characters, and offering our players something significant that they can walk away with,” the man said, voice just as commanding as his presence. “When my father founded this company nearly three decades ago, he wanted games to have a higher purpose, a higher message, appealing to individuals in a totally different way from the games that came before. Throughout his career, he cemented that status of ours as storytellers, pathfinders, and changemakers. It’s because of him that I’m able to be here with you all today.”

“When I took over the company, four years ago at the age of twenty-three, no one had ever heard of a major game company being led by someone so young. And I knew that my first release was going to be a make or break for not just me, but the whole of my company. I knew how high the stakes were for this game to be more than anyone could have expected us to do. And I feel honored today to be bringing you a release that everyone at our company couldn’t be more proud of. A story that we’ve felt compelled to tell. Today, I present you with our upcoming release, When The Dust Settles.”

The crowd went wild, whooping and hollering as the trailer continued to play on the screens behind the CEO. The audio dialed back to almost nothing as Mark felt himself getting tripped up in all the visual details. The panoramic screens making everything so vivid and clear. From the subtle, muddy nicks on the tail lights of that red, vintage car to every perfectly placed silver hairs on King’s head.

Mr. Park took a deep breath, centering himself again. “In this adventure-packed first-person narrative, you explore the barren wasteland, aptly named The Dust. Just beyond the bounds of the glowing neon metropolis of Nova City. But things in Nova City aren’t as perfect as they seem with the all-powerful Lark Industries looming over everyone’s heads. Supplying their citizens with the drugs and propaganda to keep them complicit under the company’s reign.” 

“When you come to, you find yourself being introduced to the Dust’s very own resistance. A group of colorful freedom fighters named The Surge. Surge are all fighting for the same cause; to dismantle Lark Industries and restore freedom and truth to the city. You immediately get pulled into a boisterous squad of young rebels. Most notably, your co-protagonist for the duration of the game, Z.” The screen behind him showed the red haired character sitting on the hood of the car.

Someone from the crowd suddenly stood up, shouting over the silence. “TUANZY!” he screamed, pointing towards Mark in the fourth row.

Mark’s heart went wild, panicked as the crowd’s eyes turned to him, erupting with cheers. Mark felt the embarrassment flush his ears hot as he tried sinking down in his seat, wishing for a quick and painless death.

“What are you doing!?” Jackson urged, pulling at his arm. “Sit up!”

Mark pulled himself back up, watching the smiles of the crowd glimmering back at him. Feeling his stomach churn with sudden nausea. His eyes flicked up to the stage and as they did, he found himself locking eyes with Park Jinyoung.

If the CEO was mad about the disturbance, he wasn’t letting it show. No, instead he was watching it play out, hands tucked behind his back. That smallest hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, the stage lights glistening in his eyes. Just as black as his suit.

And Mark felt faint, unable to look away from him, as the crowd managed to subdue themselves again.

That smirk on the CEO’s face nearly broke, but before it could, he looked away, redirecting his attention to the crowd. “In this game, you’ll accompany the Surge as they ready a major attack on the governing corporation. And you’ll play a critical role in it’s implementation. But,” he paused. “Things in the Dust haven’t been the same ever since your character appeared. And it’s your job to find out why.”

Mark stared up at him, feeling the nearly imperceptible lean of his own body towards the stage. Wondering exactly what type of mystery Mr. Park was hinting at.

“Higher Games has prepared some very exciting content for the next few weeks leading up to the release of the game. We sincerely hope that you are just as excited about meeting these characters as we are.” And again, the man’s eyes flashed towards Mark in the crowd. That powerful firmness in his eyes. “We are so looking forward to welcoming you into this world. And until then,” he smiled. “Keep fighting. Thank you.” 

The hall fell dark again, the crowd roaring to life with applause. House lights coming on as the applause turned to chatter. The dense crowd starting to stand, making their way out of the hall towards other presentations.

Jackson leaned into Mark’s shoulder, an annoyingly perky grin across his face. “So,” he singsonged. “What did you think?”

Mark rolled his eyes, getting up from his chair. “All feels a bit cryptic, doesn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” Mark asked. “Just leaves you with questions.”

Jackson laughed, “So you are curious, aren’t you?”

“No,” Mark shook his head. “I was just-” He sighed. “Nevermind. Let’s just head out.”

They started making their way towards the exit when Mark heard someone call out his name.

“Mr. Tuan!”

And he should have known already that nothing good could come from a stranger shouting his name, but he turned anyway, watching a taller young man maneuvering through the crowd towards him. 

“Kim Yugyeom,” he said, extending his hand out towards Mark. “I’m the one you spoke to on the phone the other day.”

Mark felt his stomach sink. He shook his hand. “Pleasure,” he smiled tightly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me-”

“Our CEO asked to meet you,” Yugyeom called over the crowd.

“Sorry?” Mark leaned closer, sure he must have misheard him.

“He’s waiting backstage,” Yugyeom nodded. “He would love to catch your ear for a few minutes.”

Mark looked back at Jackson, seeing the boy smiling, nodding. Mark’s mouth hung open as he looked back towards Yugyeom. “As I told you on the phone-”

Jackson’s hands pushed against Mark’s back, sending him two steps closer to Yugyeom. “He would love to,” he shouted, weaving through the crowd and out of sight.

“Wonderful,” Yugyeom smiled. “Follow me.”

Mark looked back, not seeing Jackson anywhere. “Shit,” he cursed under his breath as he started to trail behind Yugyeom in the crowd. Going against the current towards the back of the stage. Yugyeom led him through a narrow door to a hallway that ran behind the length of the stage. 

“This way,” the man motioned.

Mark continued to walk behind him, stomach going more and more nauseous. Keeping his head down as his mind rushed for excuses, thinking of any way he could slip out of this. But before he could find a suitable option, his eyes were falling on black dress shoes.

“Mr. Tuan?” Yugyeom said, bright smile in his voice. “Mr. Park Jinyoung.”

Mark’s eyes slowly drew up the dark suit, all the way up to the man’s face. His gaze was just as fixed as it had been on stage, same intense eyes unwavering on him. Same smirk toying at the corner of his mouth. But from this close, he could see how light brown his eyes were. He could see the dimple indenting his cheek. The intensity seeming to mask some innate softness that he had, fighting against it. And the play between the two made Mark’s head feel a little lost as he watched Mr. Park’s gaze brush down towards his chest before flicking back up to his eyes, nearly smiling.

“Pleasure,” the CEO extended his hand.

Mark looked down to it, feeling awkward and nervous as he took it. Shaking it weakly. His mouth sealed tight, just praying he wouldn’t add to the incurring embarrassment.

“I got it from here, Yugyeom,” the man said, not pulling his eyes away.

And Mark heard Yugyeom’s footsteps trail back down the hallway. The only sound was the ambient chatter of the hall filling with another audience for the next presentation. Mark’s chest felt tight, aching, as he drew in a breath, trying to find his voice. “You asked to speak with me?”

Mr. Park huffed under his breath. “It must be some great privilege.”

“And why’s that?” Mark asked, not catching on to whatever joke the man seemed to have with himself.

He looked down, adjusting the cuffs of his suit, “I heard you’ve been giving my marketing officer quite the run around this week.”

Mark bit into his cheek. “I’ve been pretty busy,” he rushed to say. “You know streaming and everything.” 

“Is that your way of apologizing?”

“No,” Mark furrowed his brows, arms crossing over his chest. “I don’t owe you an apology for being busy,” he said, firmly. Thinking, feeling out the wall behind his back just for something to lean against. “If anything, I’d apologize for today.”

The CEO looked at him, silence imploring him to explain.

“For the interruption during your presentation,” Mark said, hand combing the hair through at the nape of his neck. “I didn’t know I had any fans in the audience. Or that they would react that way.”

“I’m glad you brought that up,” Mr. Park said. “It seems like I have Tuanzy’s name following my game coverage. I was hoping-”

“Mr. Park,” Mark shook his head. “I already told your marketing official that I am not interested.”

“You haven’t even heard my offer yet.”

Mark stared at him, feeling like nothing would relieve the awkward tension that just kept ratcheting every muscle tighter. “My plate is quite full with other projects.”

“What other projects?” the man asked, brows barely lifted in a challenge.

Mark sighed, “They’re not really any concern of yours.”

“Because they don’t exist?” Mr. Park’s eyes glistened, mocking.

“How would you know?” Mark’s brows turned down into a glare.

His smirk grew. “Just assume I know everything.”

“About?”

“You.”

Mark felt the itch of frustration trailed down his spine, making his ears go hot. “Then you’ll already know that I have absolutely no interest in _anything_ you could possibly offer me.”

“Anything?” he asked, wicked charisma dripping with suggestion.

Mark leaned into the wall. He could feel the bass of some other game presentation starting, thumping against his back like a ticking clock. Making his anxiety peak. Shakily exhaling and feeling no relief from it, “What do you want, Mr. Park?” 

“An exclusive,” he said, voice steady. Nearly rehearsed. “I want Tuanzy to be the first person streaming gameplay.”

Mark stared him down, unyielding. “It’s not my brand,” he enunciated. “I don’t stream that kind of game.”

He scoffed under his breath, face going tight at one side. “So you're just going to keep playing that multiplayer shit? Like you’re just some hasbeen pro?”

Mark felt everything burn hotter, remembering his encounter with Youngjae earlier. The words too similar. Like a burn against his skin, bright red and stinging.

Mr. Park took a step forward. “Look,” he sighed, checking around for potential onlookers but there weren’t any in this hidden space behind the stage. He brought his face closer. His whole presence pressing Mark against that wall until he felt his shoulder blades trembling alongside the bass of the showcase. 

The man licked his lips, slow and deliberate in a way Mark couldn’t help but watch. And when the man spoke, his voice was deep. Feeling even deeper than that rumbling bass. Making Mark tremble in a totally different way. 

“Whether you like it or not,” he said. “You’re quickly becoming the face of this game. And my advice?” he raised an eyebrow. “Capitalize on it.”

Any trembling in Mark’s bones went stiff as glass. Brittle enough to break, to lose his cool. But he took a deep breath, calming himself before he spoke. “I’ll keep my multiplayer shit,” he bit out, all the venom going into his words. “And you can keep your knockoff Mad Max bullshit.”

The CEO rolled his eyes, “It’s _not_ Mad Max.”

“Whatever,” Mark sighed, making a break to slip out from under him.

But as soon as he got off the wall, the CEO was grabbing his wrist. Not tightly, not hurting him. But firm, as firm as the look in his eyes when Mark looked at him. The fierceness draining out of Mark in one touch, stilling him.

Jinyoung’s eyes stayed firm, but his lips quivered. A fraction of what seemed to lie beneath. Whatever he was trying to obstruct with his magnetic arrogance.

And Mark felt like he was seeing him in vivid color. Not just the lightless black of his eyes and suit on stage, but something more. But it was like a painting, abstract and ambiguous in meaning. And Mark couldn’t understand any of it. 

“They are more than they seem to be,” Jinyoung finally said, voice thick with self-control.

Mark’s eyes went as sharp as his tone. “Who?”

“Z, Blue,” he breathed. “They’re…” he gulped. That grip on Mark’s wrist going slightly weaker for a moment before tightening again. “Just play once,” he said, eyes intent. “Please.”

And the names meant nothing to him. He didn’t know who those people were. He had no reason to. This wasn’t his world, his business. No matter how many people kept trying to convince him it was. And maybe, there was some stubbornness in Mark’s indifference. Maybe some innate desire to be a rebellious contrarian. But regardless of the deeper motivations, it didn’t change the outcome.

Mark held his gaze, expression going detached. And when he spoke, his voice matched it. “Good luck with the release, Mr. Park,” he said, no inflection in his tone.

Jinyoung’s gaze went colder, maybe even hurt. But why? Mark couldn’t understand as the man’s grip loosened, letting his hand fall away.

Mark took one last look at him before turning on his heel and walking back towards the bustling hall. The deafening cheers from the crowd barely registering over the firefight of unanswered questions going off in his head.

\---

“So, let me get this straight,” Jackson leaned his forearms over the cart, following Mark closely down the grocery store aisle. “You _didn’t_ take his offer?”

“Why would I?” Mark scoffed, tracing his hand along the shelf. “The guy was… outrageous. A narcissistic asshole. I don’t want anything to do with him _or_ his game.”

“Mark,” Jackson stopped the cart, standing up. Intent eyes focused on him. “Why do you stream?”

Mark looked back at him. Feeling the press of his stare, turning away from it. “What else would I be doing?” he mumbled.

“After you left the team, I supported you taking some time off, going back to the States, recuperating from the breakup,” Jackson nodded. “But ever since you’ve gotten back, you just hole up in your apartment and stream. You won’t accept any sponsors, partnerships, brand endorsements-”

Mark sighed, turning to look back at him, “What’s your point, Jackson?”

His friend looked up at him, eyes softened with empathy. Or pity. Mark couldn’t tell the difference anymore. “What’s your end goal here?”

Mark felt the tension he was holding in his shoulders, his jaw. Feeling like it hadn’t relaxed since his encounter with Park Jinyoung at the conference. And maybe, he could admit to himself that he hadn’t had much direction since him and Youngjae split, since he was forced to walk away from the competitive scene. But he wasn’t ready to admit it outloud. Not yet. 

He averted his eyes, “I’m figuring it out.”

“Well,” Jackson breathed. “In the meantime, Higher is offering you money, promotion. Like come on, Mark. It’s one game. You play through the intro on your channel and you can cut ties. Move on with an even bigger fanbase than what you started with. It’s a no brainer.”

“Not everything is about money, Jackson,” he shrugged, grabbing a pack of ramen from the shelf and tossing it into the cart.

“Says the man buying ramen instead of lobster right now.” 

“I _like_ ramen,” Mark said. “And I _like_ being my own boss. Not having to answer to anyone.” 

Jackson huffed, rolling his eyes, “You mean the last time you had a boss, he turned out to be a huge dickwad team captain named Choi Youngjae.” 

Mark bit into his cheek, not willing to confirm it. “I’m having fun being a streamer,” he said. “And yes, my community is tight-knit-” 

“You talking about that anonymous subscriber that always sends you gifts in the mail?” Jackson raised a suggestive brow.

Mark glared at him. “Not just him,” he shook his head. “Everyone. I appreciate all of them.”

“Well, a tight-knit community doesn’t exactly pay the rent the same way a roaring and abrasive fandom does.”

“But it gives you autonomy,” Mark noted. “Which is exactly what I need.”

“If you say so,” Jackson shrugged, like he was growing tired of arguing.

“I have my own success now,” Mark assured both Jackson and himself. “And I might not be a national champion anymore, but who cares? I’m still doing what I love.”

“Mmhm, sure,” Jackson mumbled, sounding unconvinced.

“Mr. Tuan?” 

Mark turned around, looking down the other side of the aisle and seeing two men with a half-full cart of groceries. One of them was broad, clumsily dressed in oversized clothing, a knit headband pushing back his razored mullet. The one next to him had streaks of purple and pink in his hair, pretty smiling face, a sharply tailored wool coat, and pointy heeled boots that were still dusted with snow from outside.

“Sorry to bother you,” the broader one smiled. Eyes crescenting into something sweet, albeit exploratory. He leaned across his cart, extending his hand. “Im Jaebeom. The tech lead from-”

“Higher Games,” Mark stopped him, crossing his arms across his chest. He looked to the other. “And you’re the artistic lead.” 

“That’s right,” he smiled. “Bambam.”

Mark looked between them. “What is this?” he asked. “Is the company _following_ me now?” 

Jaebeom recoiled, standing straight and looking back at Bambam. “What do you mean?” he huffed, awkward smile showing through. “We are just grocery shopping.” 

Mark glared at them. “Do you both typically grocery shop together?” 

Bambam stared at him, raising a brow, “Well, we’re married so...”

Mark’s stomach sank. “Oh,” he blinked. “I’m so sorry,” he said, shaking his head.

Jaebeom’s eyes went wide, mocking as he pointed to him and Jackson, “Are you two married?”

“Ew,” Jackson whined.

“Absolutely not,” Mark said firmly. “He’s my neighbor.”

“And I’m _also_ a streamer,” Jackson smiled. He leaned across the carts, extending his hand. “T-Wang. My schedule is wide open by the way.”

Jaebeom and Bambam looked down to his outstretched hand, not amused.

“Alright then,” Jackson pulled back, dragging the cart backwards down the aisle. “I’ll leave you three to talk.”

As soon as he was gone, Jaebeom sighed, heavy shoulders falling. “We’re sorry,” he said. “We didn’t mean to ambush you. We just wanted to say hi.” 

“Extend an olive branch,” Bam nodded. “You’ve been the talk of the office ever since the conference.”

“Really?” Mark said, taken aback.

“Totally,” Bambam laughed. “I think all of us at the company are happily surprised by the response you’ve gotten since the trailer was released.”

Mark huffed, murmuring under his breath, “Definitely a surprise.”

“And we heard you met with our CEO?” Bambam tilted his head, bright eyes holding some sort of suggestion.

Mark’s stomach sank at the memory. The darkened space behind the stage. The thump of the bass in his chest. The press of the CEO’s presence. The ambiguous mystery that seemed to lie beneath. “I did,” he nodded. “He’s… interesting.”

Jaebeom smiled down in his hands, “He’s admittedly not the most personable upon first impressions.” 

“Jaebeom,” Bam hit his husband's arm. 

“What? It’s true,” he defended. “On your first day at the company, he saw your art and offered you your manager’s position right in front of the guy.”

Bambam bit his lip, stifling a giggle. “It _was_ pretty brutal.”

Jaebeom held his hands up. “He can seem a little rough around the edges,” he admitted, a defensive edge on his tone. “But no one cares more than he does about this game. And he wouldn’t have reached out to you if he didn’t see your potential to contribute something special to it.”

Mark heard the sincerity of his words, seeing plainly that Jaebeom and Bambam weren’t bad people. They weren’t trying to be conniving or manipulative. Not like Mr. Park at all. “I appreciate that,” he nodded. “But I’m just not that kind of streamer. I don’t play narrative driven games.”

Bambam came a little closer, curiosity lingering in his gaze. “May I ask why?”

And Mark looked into the man’s eyes and saw something he could trust with the truth. “When I play multiplayer,” he paused, thinking of how to say it. “I can just… tune out. I don’t have to think about anything. Not my stress, my problems. I don’t have to think about anything, but clicking heads.” He paused, wincing, “But something narrative driven, it-”

“Makes you take pause,” Jaebeom said, understanding. “Think.” 

“Maybe even feel.” Bam shrugged.

Mark bit into his cheek. Stuck in some thought for a moment. “Maybe.”

“Maybe feeling wouldn’t be as bad as you think,” Bambam suggested. “Maybe it could even be good?”

Mark sighed, looking down the aisle and passively wondering where Jackson was. How he could leave this conversation. “I don’t know,” he murmured.

“Jinyoung wants you to be involved in this game,” Jaebeom said, more firmly. Drawing them back to the point. “He wants that more than anything. And maybe, he didn’t do a great job of conveying that the first time around.” His eyes went lighter, more hopeful. “But I’m sure if you give it a shot, it would impress you.”

Mark watched him, trying to add up every detail. “I can’t tell if we are talking about the game or Mr. Park anymore.”

“Maybe both,” Bambam said, exchanging smiles with Jaebeom.

Mark didn’t smile. He just looked to them, trying to make sense of it all. All the things that weren’t being said. What they could possibly mean.

“Well,” Jaebeom nodded. “We should let you shop. But it was good meeting you. In person.”

“You as well,” he said, carefully, suspiciously.

Bambam waved, smiling wide and bright, “We hope to see you around the office soon.”

“We’ll see,” Mark said, tone stale as he walked back down the aisle. Moving around the grocery store in a daze, trying to replay every little word, facial expression. And he could tell that Jaebeom and Bambam were being genuine, but there was still something deeper there that he couldn’t piece apart. And it was feeding into those deepest curiosities that had been lingering ever since the conference.

He found Jackson a few aisles down, smelling from multiple shampoo bottles at once.

His friend looked up at him, “How did you manage to dig yourself out of that one?” He sniffed another bottle. “Oh, that one’s nice,” he nodded, tossing it into the cart.

“Something’s going on,” Mark said, eyes and thoughts still somewhere far off.

“With who?” Jackson questioned, narrowing his eyes. “Them? The company?”

“Everything.”

Jackson looked at him, bewildered. “Well, what is it?”

“I don’t know,” Mark murmured. “But I’m going to find out.” 

“What do you-”

Mark pulled out his phone, looking into his recent calls and dialing. He held the phone to his ear, hearing it ring.

Jackson stared at him, eyes round with confusion.

It only rang once before someone picked up. “Mr. Tuan?”

“Yeah, Mr. Kim?” Mark answered, fingers feeling over his crinkled brow. “It’s me.” 

“O-oh, please. Call me Yugyeom,” the man stammered, tripping over his words. “Yugyeom is just fine.”

“Alright,” Mark nodded. “Yugyeom.”

“Um,” Yugyeom hummed. “How can I help you?” 

“So, I thought over Mr. Park’s offer,” he said, feeling near physical pain as he spoke the words.

“And?”

Mark sighed, trying to push down the bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. “And I’d like to accept. I guess.”

Jackson’s eyes and smile went wide.

“Seriously?” Yugyeom questioned, sounding out of breath, maybe astonished.

“Just one stream,” Mark said firmly.

Jackson jumped, clenched fists raising over his head in silent cheering.

“That’s wonderful,” Yugyeom laughed, smile in his tone. “I’ll- uh,” he breathed. “I’ll call you back in a bit with the specs you’ll need to run it.”

“Sounds good,” Mark nodded. “Just wondering. When would we do it?”

Yugyeom was quiet for a minute, the sound of pages flipping in the background. “Uh. How does this weekend sound?” he asked, voice pitching up towards the end with optimism.

Mark took a deep breath. “Sure,” he agreed. “I’ll give it a shot.”

\---

Mark spent the next few days oscillating between feeling like he had some horrific lapse of judgement and convincing himself that he had to know more. And as Yugyeom’s number became saved in his phone, as the company started advertising the stream on social media with Mark’s photo, as the initial payment was deposited into his bank account, he had no idea what this stream would even be able to tell him. If it would satisfy his curiosities at all. But he had to try.

The day of, he was shaken with sudden nerves. And it didn’t make any sense. He’d been streaming for months. He’d won competitions in front of live audiences in past years. Why was he getting so worked up over one little stream?

He got himself ready, putting in extra effort to look his best. He had a few minutes before he was due to get started, his standby graphic left on the screen as viewers filtered in. He was watching the numbers soar higher and higher along with the nervous churn of acid in his throat when there was a knock at the door.

On his doorstep was a package. And as soon as he saw it, it had his smile pulling across his face. He brought it inside, sitting down at his desk and opening it up. On top, there was a note. Handwritten in pretty blue ink. _For your stream today,_ it read. _You’re going to do great._ A little blue heart sticker alongside. And it was funny the way that just seeing it made him feel stronger, more confident.

Mark couldn’t remember the first gift his anonymous subscriber had sent him. But ever since he came back from California and started streaming full time, this fan had sent him at least one gift a week. Most often they were small things, sweet things. A gift card to get himself a coffee. A game he’d been interested in playing for the stream. But sometimes they were bigger, nicer. Like the designer clothing that he sent every so often. Or the Nintendo Switch Mark had docking on his desk.

Mark rustled through the packaging, pulling out a box. A game accessory logo printed on the side. He slid it open, revealing a custom red gaming headset. He felt the smile on his face go twice as wide.

He plugged them into his computer, getting himself ready. He looked down at the note on his desk. Smiling at it for a moment before pulling off the blue heart, sticking it to the side of his headset. Admiring it in his camera.

Mark looked at the clock, noting the time and clicking around to start the stream. Seeing the number of viewers continue to rise, the intensity of the chat following.

“Welcome everyone,” he smiled. “It’s crazy to see so many of you here.” His eyes drifted over the comments.

_Finally! A new headset!_  
_The color looks good on you_  
_Very Z approved for our TuanZy_

“Oh, right,” Mark laughed, tapping against the headset. “Thank you to a certain someone for this. You’ve saved a lot of people’s hearing.”

_Don’t make us wait any longer!!_  
_LESS TALKING, MORE PLAYING_

“Alright, you all seem eager to get started,” he took a deep breath. “So without further ado, here is your exclusive introductory playthrough of When the Dust Settles.”


	2. Act I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the **Spotify playlist** for this story.
> 
> [Surge Public Waves Radio](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3tkIeirGKTBYlNfc93KkyB?si=Kd9X8uibTSepEVPETpk9Rg)
> 
> The names of the members have been changed for this universe.

He didn’t even remember waking up. No, what he remembered was the smell. Citrus, syrupy-sweet as it was doused over his face, slipping into his nose, his airways. Making him shoot up, choking and coughing. 

“Who are you?”

Still sputtering and dripping, he looked up at the barrel of a laser pistol staring back. Just inches from his face. His stomach turned, eyes following the line of it up to a stranger standing over him. Bright red hair, red leather jacket, white shirt beneath. Goggles hanging around his neck. Eyes fixed in a steely stare.

“I said, who are you?” the stranger said, even firmer. Pistol leaning a little closer, just shy of his temple. “Are you a Nova rat?”

He stayed still, trying to find his voice through a gravely, dry throat, “What are you-”

“Are you from the city?” he urged.

“Hold on,” he held up his hands. “Just give me a moment.” He took a deep breath, everything feeling heavy and difficult. Remembering just how weak he was. Heart racing in his chest, too fast. He shook his head, “I’m not from the city.”

“Then where did you get _that_?” the stranger pointed the pistol towards his chest.

“Where did I get what?” he grimaced. He eyed the pistol. “Can you stop?” he asked. “I’m not even armed.”

The stranger scoffed, letting his pistol fall before pocketing it back into the hostler at his hip. He knelt down, reaching out to grab at the blue scarf around his neck, pulling him forward by it. “This,” he hissed through his teeth.

He looked up into the stranger’s face, eyes skating over the tan of his skin, the deep brown of his eyes, the angular cut of his cheekbones. He swallowed around nothing. “I don’t know,” he shook his head, feeling him grip tighter into his scarf. “Is there something wrong with it?”

“It’s blue.”

He looked down, taking in scuffed knuckles fisting around the fabric. “I can see that,” he said, meeting the stranger’s eyes again.

“They don’t make this kind of blue in the Dust,” he said, inspecting it closely. “This baby blue? The plant that makes this dye went extinct ages ago. They only make it synthetically in the city now.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” he said, tone thick with indignation. “Didn’t know I was in the presence of an expert.”

The man looked at him, sharp eyes unamused. “Tell me where you got it.”

“I don’t know where I got it!” he said. “I’ve had it for as long as I remember. I’ve lived in the Dust for as long as I can remember. Now, can we _stop_ with the interrogation?”

“I think I have the right to know whose life I just saved. I used my last medpack on you.”

That explained the racing in his weak, empty chest. His stomach grumbled loud between them. Voicing bigger concerns. “Please,” he pleaded, licking his dry lips. “I’ve been walking out here for days. I need water. Food. Then, you’ll have as many answers as you want.”

The stranger kept staring, eyes so hard, untrusting.

Just then, a staticy voice spoke. “All good out there?” a man’s voice asked. “Power is still offline.” 

The stranger released his grip on the scarf, standing back up. He reached into his back pocket, pulling out a walkie talkie. “Yeah,” he spoke into it, keeping their gazes locked. “Just ran into a little something.” 

It crackled again. “Need us to come?” 

“It’s fine,” he said, arm falling away. “You,” he beckoned. “Follow me.”

He stared back at his glacial expression, not seeing any warmth in him. “Or what?” he bit out.

“Or die out here,” he shrugged, apathetic. “Your choice.” He turned back around, starting to walk away. Speaking into the walkie again, “I’ll have you online in three minutes.” 

“I have a timer,” singsonged the voice.

“Of course you do, King.”

He stood up from the ground, smelling the mixture of lemon and sweat and dust leaving a weird mix of scents on his white shirt, his beige pants. He brushed himself off, starting to follow the stranger. Eyes glazing over his red hair, his red leather jacket, his gray distressed jeans that tucked into worn black combat boots. Watching them kick up sand with every step.

“You know,” the stranger spoke over his shoulder. “You almost made it.”

His eyes followed back up the svelte line of his body. “Where?”

“There’s a gas station on the other side of this dune,” he pointed ahead. “I was supposed to be turning the power on, watching for threats.”

He sighed, feeling the weak little ache of his chest, “And I’m the threat, I guess.”

The stranger looked back at him. “Yet to be determined,” he said. He reached out towards him. “Hand over your bag.”

He stopped. “Seriously?” he asked, face drawing up in a sneer.

“Here,” he said, reaching inside his jacket and pulling out a canteen. “We can trade.”

He stared down at it, mouth nearly watering on sight. He pulled his satchel over his shoulder, handing it over. “Are you going to tell me your name?”

The stranger looked at him, eyes going a little sharper. Tossing him the canteen as he turned and kept walking. “Why do you want to know it?”

He missed the catch, picking the canteen up and brushing off some excess sand. “So I can offer my savior the eternal thanks he deserves,” he said, tone dripping with sarcasm.

The stranger kept walking, opening up the satchel and starting to parse through it. “Just call me Z.”

He looked up at him, squinting. “That’s not a name. That’s a letter.”

Z turned around, walking backwards. “You know your compass is busted,” he said, holding up the little circle. Needle inside frantically wavering.

“Yeah,” he said, tipping his head back to drink. Grimacing when it was the same citrus sweetness soaking into his shirt. A flavor that could only be described as neon. “I figured that out the second day.”

Z turned back around, rummaging more. “What’s this?” he said, holding up a small paperback.

“A book.”

Z studied the cover, “It’s from the Gas Ages.”

“So?” he replied, crossing over the highest point of the dune and seeing it spill downwards towards a gas station. Damn, he _had_ been close.

“What do you use it for?” he said, putting the book back in the bag.

“Reading.”

Z looked back over his shoulder. Brows knitting together. “You sure you’re not from the city?”

“I’m not,” he said, firmly. “What would it matter if I was?”

They came up to a car. It was red, vintage, scuffed up with sand, shiny black glass across the top. “We don’t trust Nova rats out here,” he said, opening the trunk. “Not with all the Crows around as of late.”

“We?” he said, leaning into the car.

Z ignored him, closing his satchel back up. “Not much else in here,” he said, handing it over.

“Yeah, well,” he murmured, throwing it back over his shoulder. “I didn’t exactly have time to pack.”

Z scrounged around the trunk. “Here,” he said, offering two thick pills in his palm. “Take these.”

He stared down at them, “What are they?”

“Electrolyte capsules,” Z said, pushing his hand closer. “Will help you rehydrate.”

He stayed still, hesitating. Mind weighing all the potential risks, the possible scenarios.

“Oh, now you’ve decided you won’t trust me?” Z’s eyes widened. “What happened to ‘my savior’?”

He glared, taking them from Z’s hand. He put them in his mouth, washing them down with the last of the canteen. Trying not to gag at the tangy, sweet taste.

He watched Z pull out a pair of gloves, slipping them on as he walked up to the gas station’s electrical box. He threw the canteen into the trunk, rushing to follow. 

Z flipped the box open, pulling his goggles up over his eyes. He started poking around in the wires.

He leaned up against the wall beside the box. “You’re not going to ask for my name?” he said, trying to catch sight of what Z was doing.

Z looked over, pulling his goggles up onto the top of his head and in the process, pushing his red hair out of his tanned face. “We don’t share real names around here. We do just fine with nicknames.”

“Who’s we?”

“The Surge.”

“Who’s the Surge?”

The man’s shoulders fell. “You really don’t know anything do you, little dust bunny?” he said, the timbre of his voice almost raspy. “We’re insurgents. Rebels. Resistance.”

He furrowed his brow, “Against who?”

Z beckoned to the horizon in the distance. “Against Lark Industries,” he said, mouth turning up in a disgusted sneer. “Against everything Nova City stands for.”

He looked over his shoulder, squinting his eyes like maybe if he tried hard enough, he could see this place in the distance that Z kept referencing. But all he saw was endless miles of sandy plains and desert stretching out as far as his eyes could reach.

When he looked back, Z was looking at him, a deep-set curiosity in his eyes. “You don’t know about the city,” he said, making it sound like an accusation.

And for a moment, he didn’t smell that lemon or sweat or dust anymore but instead, he smelled chemicals, sterile and burning his nose. He could almost hear the crashing of glass, the laughter of children. But it was so amorphous. So beyond anything like remembering. Like it was a dream he couldn’t quite hold onto.

“I don’t think so,” he finally said.

Z continued staring at him, brow crinkled in the center ever so faintly. “Who are you?” he whispered.

He tried to take a breath. “I’m-”

Z held up a hand. “That was a rhetorical question,” he said, before pulling his goggles over his eyes and ducking down again. The spark of the wires illuminating his face as he connected them between his fingers.

“With twelve seconds to spare,” the walkie spoke from his back pocket. “You’re the best, Z.”

Z reached for it, holding it up to his mouth, “Less talking, more searching.”

“Searching for what?” he asked, leaning closer.

Z didn’t look over. “Not your concern.” He pulled his goggles off, walking back towards the trunk and tossing them in. Pulling off his gloves and tossing them too. He slammed down the trunk, sitting himself down on it. “So,” he said, looking back at him. “Where are you from?”

He stood across from him, suddenly feeling like he was swimming in a deep end with nothing to grab onto. He crossed his arms over his chest. “I lived in a cabin,” he said, voice a little weaker than it had been.

“Where?”

He shook his head, “I don’t really know. There was nothing around us. Just sand as far as the eye could see.”

“What mile marker?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I never left the cabin before.”

Z’s face went tighter. “Why not?”

“My sister. She said it’s not safe for me out there. So, she would go out. Get food, supplies,” he nodded. “I would stay home. Read.”

“You’ve never met anyone else before?”

He thought for a moment. Trying to picture anyone but his sister, but the characters in his books. But the idea of people didn’t feel like something familiar. It felt abstract, just like those thoughts of the city. “I’m not sure,” he murmured, brushing his dark bangs out of his face. “Maybe long ago. But I don’t really remember it well.”

Z stared, studying him. Face so serious that it made him want to shrink away to nothing. “Why did you leave?”

That answer felt a lot clearer. He looked to the ground, eyes defocusing as he remembered the sound of tires pulling up along the gravel. Heavy footsteps on the porch. “Some people came to the house. They were all dressed in black. They had masks, guns.”

“Crows,” Z said softly.

He looked up at him, “Who are they?”

“They work for Lark Industries,” he said. “Maintaining law and order by whatever means necessary. They typically stick to the city. But these days?” he bit into his cheek. “Seems like they have unfinished business in the Dust.” He paused, trapped up in a thought before looking back at him. “Did they see you?”

He shook his head. “My sister hid me,” he said, remembering her worried voice. Remembering watching through the narrow slats of the floorboards. “She put up a fight.”

“And?”

He remembered the zap of a pistol, the thud when she hit the floor, the sound it made when they dragged her out. “It didn’t end well.” He looked back up to Z.

Z’s eyes were on him, just as serious. But there was a tint of empathy there too. The first bit of it he’d seen. “I’m sorry.”

He took a deep breath, shaking his head. “Couldn’t survive there by myself,” he said. “So. Here, I am.”

Z’s teeth wore against his bottom lip. “Crows don’t just go around killing people for sport. It’s not their M.O.,” he said. “What did they want with her?”

And he tried to remember their words, but it was all so jumbled. So frantic. It was hard to remember over the din of his own breathing, his heart rate. How he shook with fear at the thought of them hearing him. “They were looking for something. Someone,” he said, stringing memories together. “I don’t know who.”

Z was silent, still. Eyes trained on him.

“We got it!” someone shouted from behind them.

They both turned, watching two men coming out of the gas station. One of them was tall, bright yellow hair that hung just above his eyes. He wore a dark green graphic t-shirt and yellow tartan plaid pants with a chain at his hip.

The other one had white blonde hair, so perfectly smooth and styled. He had a silky lavender button up with only one button closed at the middle of his pale bare chest, black pants etched in shiny zippers and tall platform boots.

“Oh,” the blonde smiled, tilting his head. “Didn’t know we had company.” 

“Not welcome company,” Z huffed.

“Don’t be rude, Z,” he tutted. “Introduce us to your new friend.”

Z sighed, beckoning towards the blonde. “This is King Cobra.”

He came closer, smoothing a hand down his arm, “King is just fine.”

He studied the details of King’s face, the seam at his temples and the misty glow of his silver eyes. Watching them widen as they studied him. “You’re a…”

King smiled even wider, “It’s not polite to stare.”

He gulped, finding himself smiling as well. “Sorry,” he nodded. “I’ve never met...” he struggled to find the words. Android? Bot? “Someone like you.”

“Damn right,” King giggled, reaching up and putting a hand to his chin. He turned it to the side. “This little dimple of yours,” he laughed, touching it with his finger. “I love it.”

His hand flew up, smiling spreading wider as he felt it. “Yeah?”

“Ahem,” coughed the yellow haired man, pouting from the side.

“And this,” Z said. “Is Fine ‘n Dandy.” 

“Are we taking in strays now, Z?” said the man, crossing his arms over his chest. Managing to not sound as deathly cynical as his words. More so like a teasing kid brother.

King slung an arm around his shoulder. “We were all strays once, Dandy,” he noted. “We weren’t all born into Surge life like you.”

Z groaned, hand rubbing against his face. “We aren’t taking in anyone,” he said firmly. “We got what we needed and will be on our way.”

“Wait,” he said, face falling. Looking around at the three of them. “You’re just going to leave me here?”

Z jumped from the trunk, going to the driver’s door and pulling it open. “There is an old man who comes by and services this station every two weeks,” he said.

He looked at him in shock, “And until then?”

“I saw some cans of beans in the back,” Dandy offered.

He stood there, shoulders sinking even lower. “I have no one,” he said softly. “I have nothing.”

“Z,” King stepped closer to the car, folding his arms over his chest and making it sound like a threat.

Z looked at him, everything in him still, pensive. “Are you from the city?” he said firmly.

“I already told you-”

“Tell me one more time.”

He took a deep breath, letting it out. “I’m not from the city,” he said, surely. “I’ve never even heard of it.”

Z’s eyes darted over to King.

King watched him, silver eyes narrowing. “Heart rate stable,” he said. “He’s not lying.”

Z let out a tight breath. He looked around at his friends. “Let’s put it up to a vote.”

“For,” King perked immediately. Looking back over at him. “He’s adorable.”

He smiled at the android, stomach fluttering a little.

“Against,” Dandy said, flatly. “The lack of legroom in your car is already atrocious.”

His smile fell. He lifted his eyes to the red haired stranger standing opposite him. “And you, Z?” he asked, raising a brow. “What’s your vote?”

Z stared at him, expression so stony that it made him feel uncomfortable. His eyes dragging down his frame, before he straightened himself with a sigh. “Get in the car.”

He felt his heart give a little kick in his chest. He looked over, seeing King smiling back at him. The android took his hand, lacing their fingers together. “Come on,” he said, dragging him toward the passenger side. “Take the front seat.”

“Oh, no,” he shook his head. “It’s fine. I’m already being a burden-”

“Hey,” King stopped, laughter just behind his perfect teeth. “I’m not the only one who voted to keep you.” He let his hand fall as he slid into the backseat.

He stood there for a moment, not quite sure what the android had meant, before he opened the door, getting into the passenger seat. And inside the car felt so much narrower. Like they were all being squished together.

Z put the car into reverse, putting his arm over the passenger seat as he pulled out. “You’ll need a name,” he said, not looking at him.

“I have a name.”

Z’s eyes flicked over towards him. “ _Not_ that one,” he said, throwing the car into drive.

He looked over, eyes running over Z’s stony profile. “How did you pick your name?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Dandy huffed from the backseat. “He picked the last letter of the alphabet because-”

“That’s enough,” Z warned, looking into the rearview mirror.

King folded his forearms across the corner of the passenger seat. “It doesn’t have to be deep,” he said, fingers combing his dark hair behind his ear. “Don’t overthink it.”

The car went silent except for the whine of the tires on the dry desert earth. He looked out the window, trying to think. But all he kept coming up with was recycled names from novels he’d read. Fitzwilliam? No. Rhett? No. Noah? No.

“How about Blue?”

He looked over at Z. His eyes were still on the road. Expression still firm, unreadable.

“Blue?” he questioned.

“Baby Blue,” he said.

“Why?”

Z didn’t look as he reached over, tugging on the scarf at his neck. “Baby Blue who’s not from the city,” he said. And it almost looked like the corner of his mouth flicked up a little.

“What do you think?” King said, wide-eyed as he leaned into his shoulder. “Will it do?”

His chest gave a passive little flutter. “Yeah,” he smiled back at the android. “It will do.”

“Now, that’s settled-” Z sighed, reaching forward to turn up the volume knob on the radio.

“You’re listening to SPWR. Surge Public Waves Radio,” said a smooth voice through the speakers. “This is Def coming to you from wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Hey!” King hit Blue’s shoulder, pointing to the radio. “That’s my man!”

Another voice cut through the speakers, sharper and brighter. “And I’m your boy wonder, Ars.”

King laughed, hitting him again. “And that’s Z’s man!”

Z snapped his head toward the backseat. “King,” he glared. “Can it.”

King looked back at him, smirk twisted up into something haughty. Eyes wide with a statement as the android leaned back into his seat.

Ars’ voice floated through the car, “Wherever you are, whatever flag you’re flying under, let us be your Dust blinders. Gentle reminders. Wayward pathfinders.”

“Now here,” Def spoke, smile in his voice. “Is the daily brief.”

\---

The sun was setting across the desert horizon as King and Blue sat on the hood of the car outside of an abandoned mart. An empty tin can a few feet in front of them. They were taking turns picking up stones and trying to toss them into the can. Blue’s stones kept falling short, bouncing off the rim with a noisy clank. While King was having no problem sinking every attempt with ease.

“So,” he continued his story. “After two long months of wandering, Def found Z. He’s the one who put me back together. Made me stronger than ever. And I’ve been riding with him ever since,” he shrugged.

“Wow,” Blue breathed, awestruck. “You and Def are a real life love story.”

The android sunk another stone into the can. “Yeah,” he smiled. “I guess we are.”

Dandy came out of the mart, his arms full of chips and cheez whiz. “We hit the jackpot with this one!” he exclaimed.

“You must be starving,” King said, touching Blue’s knee gently. “Go grab some food for yourself.”

“What about you?”

“Blue,” King giggled. “I don’t eat.”

“Right,” Blue winced. Not realizing how easy it had been to forget what King was. “Sorry.”

“Go,” he said. “And tell Z to hurry his ass up.”

Blue went inside the mart, grateful that Z had found the power source and flicked everything back on. The fluorescent lights overhead, the cheery background music making the mart feel like it hadn’t ever been abandoned. Blue meandered down the aisles, picking up things that interested him. A packet of jerky that he immediately ripped into, ravenous with hunger. A few bottles of water that went straight into his bag. But just as he was pocketing a sleeve of crackers, he heard a clattering from the back of the mart.

He looked around, peeking over the tops of the aisles. Seeing no bright red hair. No movement at all. He crept towards the back, spotting a bathroom sign hanging on the door. He raised his fist, hesitating for a moment before knocking. 

“Come in,” Blue heard, before pushing open the door.

Z was standing at the bathroom mirror, his jacket and shirt off. Bare, tanned skin paling in the bright light. One long plane of his tautly pulled torso smoothing into his jeans. His arms raised over his head, contours of his firm muscles catching shadows. Scribblings of black ink up his ribs, the insides of his arms. Tattoos that Blue hadn’t seen yet. His bare hands, running through his hair, stained bright red. Dye dripping down his wrists, his neck, as he lathered it through his roots.

Blue gulped.

“Yes?” Z asked, inspecting himself closely in the mirror.

Blue blinked, reanimating. “What are you doing?” he asked, leaning into the doorway.

“What does it look like?” Z said, combing his reddened fingers through the wet hair. “I’m touching it up. This place had my shade.”

Blue’s eyes skirted down his frame, settling somewhere on the space between his navel and belt buckle.

“What?”

Blue looked up, seeing Z’s gaze on him. He cleared his throat, “King said to hurry up.”

“King is going to have to wait thirty minutes,” he said, leaning into the sink. Leaving two red handprints against the porcelain.

“Well, in that case,” Blue said, trying to keep his eyes on his face. “I’ll just…” he pointed behind him, losing his train of thought, before slipping out of the doorway.

He found a small eating area by the window. He took a seat, pulling his book from his bag and finding the last page he’d dogeared. He flipped it open, starting to read despite the upbeat music distantly playing out through the mart. Pulling out a first bottle of water and chugging it in one go before moving onto the next.

He was only allotted a few minutes of peaceful reading, rehydrating, cracker eating, before Z emerged from the bathroom, chest still bare and hair still wet with dye as he came over, tossing his jacket and shirt on the table Blue was sitting at before hopping up to take a seat.

Blue tried to concentrate on the book in his hands. Not Z hovering over him. Not on his combat boots bouncing against the chair next to his. Not the sound of the metallic wrapper of Z’s chocolate bar crinkling as he unwrapped it. But all of it was adding up, making it impossible to focus. So instead, he found himself stealing sneaky glances. Staring up at Z and watching the way the fluorescent lights were shining off his bright red hair, his shoulders, his collarbones.

Z reached down, plucking the novel from Blue’s hands.

“Hey,” Blue glared up at him. “I was reading that.”

“No, you weren’t.” Z held the novel up to his eyes, furrowing his brows at the airbrushed cover art of a man and a woman, hair flowing as they tightly embraced. “What was so important about these Gas Ages people?” he said, biting down on chocolate. “What did they do?”

“Well,” Blue grumbled, snatching it back from his seat. “First off. They aren’t real people.”

Z’s face pulled tight in confusion as he chewed. Speaking through a full mouth, “Why would people have wanted to read about fake people?”

Blue opened the book back up, trying to focus on the words, to block out Z’s taunts. “I don’t know,” he said, scratching just under his scarf. “To listen to someone experience things they’d never get to?”

“Like what?” he asked, pointed. Annoyed. “What could they possibly be doing that would have people wanting to read about it?”

Blue sighed, closing the book. “A lot of things,” he urged, clutching the novel to his chest. “Falling in love mostly.”

Z stopped, looking at him in pure puzzlement. “That’s it?” His face broke, sardonic smile spreading. “Wow,” he laughed. “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard. I mean since when does that make a good story? Since when is that something to celebrate?”

Blue looked up at him blankly, unphased by his cynical tone. “You’ve clearly never been in love then.”

“And you have?” Z raised a brow. He let a significant beat of silence pass, already knowing Blue’s answer. “ _Love_ ,” he sneered, like it was something ridiculous, “Love is a made up concept that the Gas Ages used to sell things. Love is what got us into this mess. Corporations instead of leaders.” 

Blue put the book on the table, leaning on his elbows to look up at him, “What about Def and King then?” 

Z looked down at him. Biting into his cheek for a long moment. “They’ve _exchanged names_ ,” he said, firmly. “They did it the Surge way.” 

“Exchanged names?”

Z sighed. “It’s a Surge thing,” he waved him away. “Just forget it.” 

“Tell me,” Blue urged, crawling up to sit next to him on the table. “Tell me. I want to know.” 

Z stared back, eyes painting down his features. Mouth twisted tight in thought. “When two people decide they are ready to commit to each other, they tell each other their names. Their real names.” 

“Oh,” Blue’s eyes widened. “ _That’s_ why no one uses their real name, then.”

“Yeah,” Z murmured. “That’s why.”

“So, it’s like marriage?” 

Z rolled his eyes. “Marriage is antiquated. _Temporary_ ,” he said. “You can’t take back your name. Once you share it, it’s forever.” He nodded, like he was sure of himself, “Def and King know that exchanging names is about commitment. Loyalty. Something much more tangible than whatever love claims to be.”

Blue shrugged, “I think they’d disagree with you.” 

“Then, you’d have to ask them.”

Blue looked over, watching him intently. Looking at that surface level indifference. Hoping to dust it off, reveal something different underneath. “What about you and Ars?” Blue asked. “You don’t love him?” 

“No need to,” he said, taking another bite of chocolate. “He doesn’t believe in it either.” 

“So,” Blue leaned in closer, brushing shoulders. “You’ve exchanged names?” 

Z was quiet, still. Eyes focused on the linoleum floors. In the background, that same playful music was playing. Completely out of place. 

The silence between them was so much louder, so much more telling. And Blue’s mind suddenly felt like a twelve car pile up. “You haven’t,” he noted. “Why not?” 

Z’s eyes stayed focused, averted. “He wants to,” he murmured. “I don’t.” 

Blue blinked. “Oh.” 

“Yeah,” Z sighed. “He’s not too thrilled about that.” 

Blue watched his profile. His tight brows and his tanned skin. Seeing slivers of vulnerability that hadn’t been there before like wounds on his underside. And Blue wondered why _he_ was seeing them. Was Z having a moment of weakness? Letting himself be turned over? Or was there some other reason he was telling Blue this? Blue and not someone else.

“Oh,” Blue blinked. “That’s how you’re going about this?”

Z snapped his eyes towards him, brows furrowing. “Going about what?”

“Nothing,” he chimed, picking up his book again. Opening it up and trying to hide the smile he was biting down on.

“Blue,” he warned.

He shrugged, “I’m reading.”

Z snatched the book back with a stained hand.

“Hey!”

“And now, you’re not,” Z said, eyes going bright, haughty. “Going about what?”

“Gimme that!” he said, leaning in to try and take it back.

But Z pulled it out of his reach, pushing against Blue’s chest with his free hand. “Going about what?” he asked, smile stretching across his handsome features.

Blue’s arms fell. “There it is.”

“There’s what?” Z with a laugh.

“A smile,” Blue said, sweetly. “I _knew_ you had one.”

Z’s lips pressed together tight, trying to hide it. “That’s how I’m going about what?” he asked, voice a little softer. Their sides flush against each other.

Blue felt the warmth coming off his bare skin. Making his chest flutter. He smirked, “You're flirting with me.”

Z froze, eyes unmoving. Losing any hint of a smile. “Why would you think I’m flirting with you?”

“Confiding in me that you don’t love your boyfriend?” Blue huffed. “What do you call it?” 

Z’s brows turned downward into a glare, “Holding a damn conversation with my pain-in-the-ass stowaway.”

“I’m not a stowaway,” Blue shook his head. “You invited me to ride with you.”

Z stared at him, looking shocked. “How long have you been sealed away from the world that even the most meager, mundane kindness comes across as _flirting?_ ”

Blue pulled back, that flutter in his chest sinking lower, turning his stomach sour. “Why are you getting so heated about this?” he said, having the sudden sense that maybe he’d dug his fingers into those wounds, maybe he’d pushed too deeply.

“Because,” Z said, jumping to his feet and tossing Blue’s paperback onto the table. “You’re outrageous.”

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

Z stared at him for a long moment, steely gaze unyielding as he came closer. Letting his fingers brush up Blue’s jaw, tilt his chin up towards him. 

Blue drew in a breath, meeting his eyes.

Z held him firm. “If I was flirting with you,” he smirked, breath against Blue’s mouth. “You would know it.” 

Blue swallowed, eyes panning down to his mouth. Watching his sharp canines poke through his smile. But it wasn't sweet, nor genuine anymore. It was cruel.

“Sorry to disappoint, Baby Blue,” he whispered. “But _this_ ain’t it.” He let his chin fall. “We’re leaving after I wash this out,” he said firmly, turning and talking over his shoulder.

Blue watched him walk back towards the bathroom. Nothing but silence between his ears.

It was only a few minutes later that Dandy burst through the door, yellow hair easy to spot above the aisles. “Where’s Z?” he called across the mart.

And Blue had barely opened his mouth when Z was coming out of the bathroom, drying his hair with a handful of paper towels. “What is it, Dandy?”

“We got a big problem,” he panted. “Like really big.”

Z’s shoulders fell, “Just-

“Crows on the horizon.”

Blue’s eyes went wide, panic seizing up his whole body.

“Fuck,” Z scoffed. He came over to the table, grabbing his white tank and starting to pull it over his head. He grabbed his walkie from his back pocket. “King,” he said. “How many we got?”

“According to my eyes?” King patched through. “Four. Carrying standard issue pistols.”

“Nothing long range?”

“Nope.”

Blue stood up from the table. “What does that mean?”

Z looked over at him, “That they need to get close to hit us.”

“Then, let’s go!” Blue shouted. “Let’s get in the car.”

“No,” Z shook his head. “Surge don’t run away. We face them head on.”

Blue scoffed, “Well, then Surge sound pretty dumb.”

“Dandy. You wait outside. If you hear any shots fired, start the car.”

Dandy’s shoulders fell. “Why am I always the getaway?” he whined.

“Because King is a better shot.”

“That’s not fair,” he complained. “He’s better at everything.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Z groaned. “Just go!”

Blue rushed to put his book back into his bag, “What do I do?”

“Whatever I say,” Z commanded, slipping on his jacket. “Come on.”

Blue followed him down the back of the store, slipping into a storage room.

Z opened up an electrical box, pulling at the wires. One sparked as he touched it, having him hissing and pulling his hand away. Sucking the tip of his finger into his mouth.

“Did you shock yourself?” Blue called.

Z didn’t look back, “I know what I’m doing.” He tugged on another wire and as soon as it snapped free, the mart went dark. The fluorescent lights along the aisles and the music over the speakers suddenly gone.

“Follow me,” Z said, taking his walkie out again. “King. You take the front of the store. Find a place to hide. Don’t engage them until we have them closed off.”

“Got it,” King affirmed.

“Three on four?” Blue’s eyes widened. “I don’t love these odds.”

“Two on four,” Z corrected him, walkie going back in his pocket. “Who said anything about you being involved.”

“Well, give me your gun and I can be,” he said, reaching for the laser pistol at Z’s hip.

Z pushed his hand away. “ _You_ don’t touch this,” he snapped. “We don’t give guns to Dust bunnies who’ve never handled them.”

Blue glared at him, “But what if I need to defend myself?”

“You don’t defend yourself,” he said. “That’s my job.”

Blue’s glare steadied, crossing his arms over his chest.

Z looked at him, sighing. “Fine,” he conceded. He looked around them, reaching for a wrench next to the electrical box. “Here.”

Blue took it in his hand, surprised at how heavy it was.

Z looked around. “If they get close, swing for their heads,” he said. “Now, just stay by my side and do as I say.”

Blue looked at him, face flat, “Lead the way then, drill sergeant.”

Z went back into the store. It was dark, the dusk sky glowing dark orange past the glass windows in the front. The white, bright headlights of a car coming closer. They crouched down below the line of an aisle, sneaking along and positioning themselves at a corner near the back. A display of two liter soda bottles beside them.

“Stay down and stay silent,” Z whispered to Blue, reaching for his pistol.

“Z,” he whispered, catching his eyes. “Be careful.”

Z looked at him, a subtle smirk spreading across his mouth. “Who’s flirting now?”

A gas engine fell quiet outside as the headlights flicked off, giving way to more darkness. The doors of the mart opened. Footsteps slow across the linoleum.

Blue listened to each one of them fall, multiple sets of feet. He closed his eyes, trying to hold his breath. But all it did was make his mind race until those footsteps felt like they were over his head. His blood raced, hearing the distant sound of his sister’s scream. He gasped, falling onto his hands as his foot slipped out from under him. Kicking out the corner of the soda display until the bottles all started careening downward, falling and breaking open. Vicious hissing emanating from the corner.

Blue’s gaze snapped towards Z, seeing him stare back in wide-eyed horror.

The laserfire went over their heads, hitting into the wall behind them. Blue cowered, raising his hands up over his ears to block out the sound.

Z stood up, aiming his pistol across the aisle and starting to fire in short bursts. From the front of the store, Blue could hear King’s gun fire off a round as well.

Blue heard the first Crow hit the floor with a thud, making his pulse race in his ears. Trying not to think about his sister. About the sound she made when being dragged.

“Ah!” Z suddenly hissed, falling hard onto his back. 

Blue’s eyes went wide, racing closer to lean over him. Seeing the blackened sizzle erupt from his shoulder. “Z-”

“It’s fine,” the boy smiled through a wince of pain, a delirious little laugh slipping between his nashed teeth. The rise and fall of his chest quickened. “Why do you think I positioned us here?” And as he said it, his eyes fluttered shut. 

Blue panicked, fingers going to his neck and feeling a slowed pulse beat back. “What the fuck do you mean?” he panicked, looking around. Maybe he meant there was a back exit. Maybe he could drag him out. He couldn’t weigh that much.

He heard another body hit the floor, eyes darting up towards it. He momentarily prayed it wasn’t King’s. He looked at the rack staring back at him. “Oh,” he whispered, seeing a long row of medpacks in front of him.

Blue grabbed one in a hurry, ripping open the packaging. The pen sprawled across the floor. “No,” he breathed, crawling forward, trying to grab it. A stretched out shadow loomed over the white tile. Blue looked up, staring up at the black figure. A mask that covered his eyes, nose, mouth. Blue felt the flood of terror spill through his bloodstream, heighenting his reflexes as he reached for the wrench on the ground. He stood up, swinging it with both hands as hard as he could. It uppercut the Crow’s chin, knocking through the plastic shell of the mask. The Crow fell to the side, hitting the floor hard. Cracked mask exposing his open mouth. His shattered lower teeth soaking with blood.

Blue’s heart raced in his chest. He grabbed the pen off the floor, holding it close to his eyes to try and read the instructions in the darkness. Murmuring them to himself. “Pullofthesafetyreleasesharplyjabpentipintocenterofthechestholdfor-”

Another shadow loomed, Blue looked up. Seeing a Crow aiming a pistol straight at him. He gasped, swinging the wrench towards the enemy’s black gloved hand and watching the gun drop with a clatter onto the floor. The Crow lurched forward, hands going around Blue’s neck.

Blue’s eyes went wide, breath being squeezed from his throat as his hand tightened up on the handle of the wrench. He swung it again, aiming it at the side of the Crow’s head. The black figure went limp, falling on top of his friend.

Blue dropped the wrench to the floor, grabbing the pen in his right hand falling to his knees. He pulled Z’s jacket open, pulled the neck of his tank down. Eyes trying to find the right spot before he stabbed it into his chest.

Z’s eyes burst open, immediately trying to sit up.

Blue pushed him back down, keeping him there as he sputtered to breath. Sadistically thinking that he should pour some citrus soda over his face just for pay back.

“Z!”

Blue looked up, seeing King running up the aisle.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” the redhead reached up, pulling the pen from his chest and tossing it aside. “Fuck,” he rubbed at the spot in his chest. “You don’t have to stick them in that hard.”

“I was trying to save your life,” Blue scowled at him. He looked up at King, “He got hit on the shoulder.”

The android rolled his eyes, “That’s what he gets for trying to show off,” he smirked. “I’ll pick him up.”

Blue looked up at him, “Are you sure you don’t-”

King reached down, hands coming up under Z’s knees and behind his back as he picked him up without so much as a grunt.

“Oh, okay,” Blue blinked, remembering again, he was an android.

“Stop,” Z whined. “I can walk just fine.”

“Let’s get out of here,” King ignored him, walking back down the aisle towards the front of the store.

Blue followed them out to where Dandy had already started the car. King slid Z into the back seat, shutting the door. “Sit in the back, Blue.”

He twisted his face, “And do what?”

The android laughed. “I think Z’s pride took a bigger hit than his shoulder,” he said. “Just sit with him.”

And Blue didn’t understand, but he knew they were in a hurry, so he got in the backseat, looking over at Z and watching his eyes flutter, looking drained and in pain as Dandy started to speed away down the road.

“You got three of them, King?” Z asked towards the passenger seat.

“Nope,” the android said, putting his platform boots up on the dash. “I got one.”

Z’s brow furrowed, “Who got the other two?”

King laughed, “Guess.”

Z’s turned, looking over at Blue, face flat except for the nigh imperceptible crease of his brows.

Blue shrugged. “I think that makes us even,” he said softly, smile toying at the corner of his mouth. “A life saved for a life saved.”

Z stared back, sharp eyes hard to read in the darkness. “I guess so.”

“Are we not going to talk about the elephant in the car?” Dandy said, gripping his hands around the wheel. “What were those Crows doing?”

Blue looked between King and Z. “Isn’t that what they do?” he asked. “Prey on Surge just for the hell of it?”

“No,” Z breathed. “It’s not.”

“Then, what were they doing?” Blue asked, trying to understand.

Z swallowed. “I don’t know,” he said, flatly. “But we’re going to find out.”


	3. "He'll Come Around"

The day after the stream, Mark was walking circles around his living room. Phone pressed to his ear.

“Your stream seemed to go as planned,” Yugyeom said, the cheerfulness of his voice radiating through the line. 

Mark circled again, eyes on his socks, one crossing over the other. “Yeah. It was fine.” 

“More than fine,” Yugyeom laughed. “Half a million people tuned in. You nearly crashed the platform.” 

“Was it that much?” Mark asked, fingernails finding their way between his teeth. “I wasn’t paying attention.” It was a lie. He had very much been paying attention. And the whole concept that so many people had watched him was wild in every way possible. But he wasn’t willing to admit it. Especially not to the game studio he was trying to avoid at all costs.

“Mr. Park would like to meet with you. To discuss your experience.” 

Mark stopped, centered in his living room. Staring down at the rug. Paralyzed by the suggestion. He shook his head, “Can’t he just send me a survey or something?” 

“He insisted,” Yugyeom said, as firmly as it seemed he could. Not leaving any room for misinterpretation. For finding an excuse.

Mark felt the crawl of his skin. Not sure what that inarticulable emotion was that just the thought of Mr. Park had him feeling these past few days. But he knew it was strong, unquellable. More so than anything else he’d been feeling in recent months. But that itself was far from good. If anything, it felt dangerous, unstable.

“Fine,” he conceded. “Send me the details.” 

When Yugyeom sent him the location of some fancy Italian place across town, Mark just rolled his eyes. He found himself pulling on his most lazy sweats, just wanting some sort of opportunity to rebel against how cliche it all was. When he arrived at the restaurant, hood drawn up to keep the snow out of his hair, he gave Mr. Park’s name to the hostess. She politely smiled before taking him back into the depths of the restaurant. Mark kept looking around the dining room that was nearly empty after the lunch rush, wondering why she wasn’t seating him somewhere there. Why she was, instead, taking him deeper and deeper inside. As they kept walking, everything went even more quiet, even more tightly packed. And something about it had Mark’s heart thumping up into his ears.

“Here you are, sir,” the hostess bowed, sliding open a door to a private room.

“Thanks,” he muttered, squeezing himself inside. His eyes adjusted to the moody lighting, seeing the elongated dining table that stretched down the length of the room. Enough to perhaps fit a dozen people. But as his gaze followed up the pristinely white tablecloth down towards the end, he saw it had only been set with two place settings at the end of the table. Across from each other. 

At one, sat Mr. Park, a bottle of wine in front of him. Face breaking into a soft smile as he stood up from his seat. He was wearing another beautifully tailored suit, totally opposite from Mark’s ragged sweats. “Mr. Tuan,” he said, motioning to the seat in front of him. “Please.” 

Mark heard the hostess firmly slide the door shut behind him, knowing he had lost any chance to run. He took a deep breath before coming forward, eyes cast downward as he took his seat. “You got us a private room,” he said. Not like a question at all. Like an observation, an accusation. 

The CEO took his seat across from him, “We’re talking about an unreleased video game, Mr. Tuan.” He reached for the bottle of wine, pouring it with one hand for Mark before himself. “I already ordered for you,” he said, offhandedly.

Mark looked to his wine glass, not touching it. “How presumptuous of you.” 

“To know what you want or think that you’ll stay that long?” he said, putting the bottle down and reaching for his glass.

Mark sat back in his chair, watching him. “Both.” 

The man smirked, down into his wine. “This isn’t your first time,” he noted, taking a sip.

“Excuse me?” Mark’s eyebrows raised.

He smacked his lips, putting down his glass. “Meeting with a potential partner,” he said. “In fact, you’ve met with quite a few since you’ve left the pro circuit. But you always turn their deals down, don’t you?” 

Mark stayed firm, stony. “How would you know?” 

“The industry is smaller than it seems,” he said. “You’ve seen me drink it,” he said, motioning to Mark’s glass. “You know it’s not poison.”

Mark held his gaze for a moment longer, thinking. He reached for the glass, taking a single sip.

Mr. Park leaned his chin into his hand, “Why do you turn them down?” 

The wine was good. Much better than anything else about the situation. So he took another sip, licking at his lips. “If I tell you,” he said, not raising his eyes. “You’ll say you’re different.” 

“And what if I am?” 

“You’re not,” Mark snapped, just sharp enough to make the space between them fall quiet again.

The man’s eyes shined under the moody lighting, looking like he was arrogantly unconvinced. “What shall we talk about while we wait?”

“We don’t have to wait,” Mark shook his head.

“I’d prefer to.”

“Then, we don’t have to talk,” Mark shrugged.

“I’d prefer to,” he repeated.

“Then, you can pitch the first topic,” he said over the brim of his glass, needing a more generous sip if he had any hope of making it through this interaction.

“Where are you from?” 

“Los Angeles.” 

“It’s beautiful there,” he smiled.

Mark sighed. “Traded one smoggy city filled with plastic people for another.” 

He looked up, watching that arrogant shine in the man’s eyes having gone softer. Like his mind was somewhere else, thinking of something fondly.

Mark felt awkward under it, averting his gaze. Putting his glass down and straightening the silverware on the table. “Did you peg me as a cynic, Mr. Park?” 

“Yes, actually. You’re doing it to self-deprecate. So that you put yourself down before anyone else does.” 

Mark went still, looking up at him. Seeing that same fond shine, the slight tug of his smile. Distantly hearing portions of their last conversation. Something about Mr. Park knowing everything about him.

“Call me Jinyoung,” he said, leaning closer, catching the light from above the table. “I insist.”

And even with a table between them, Mark felt like he was that much closer, that much more illuminated. But he still couldn’t pin down anything about him.

He was thankful to hear the door slide open, servers coming in and putting plates of food between them. It was a welcome distraction, a welcome divider.

“Help yourself,” Jinyoung said, picking up his wine as the servers left them alone again.

Mark wanted to protest, to not even eat a single bite. But he could feel the hungry churn of his stomach, not having eaten anything yet that day. And everything just looked so delicious. “You’re not eating?”

“I already ate,” Jinyoung said, brushing him off. Swirling the glass in his hand, watching the wine move. “So,” he said. “How was it?” 

Mark picked up his silverware, eyes trying to decide what to try first. “How was what?” 

“The first stream.” 

Mark cut into a piece of steak, “You didn’t watch it?” 

“I want to hear about it from you.” 

“All seemed to go the way the company had wanted it,” he said. “All the viewers. All the engagement. You must be happy,” he said, flatly, taking a bite.

“How did you like the game?”

Mark looked up at him, talking through a full mouth. “Your marketing team surpassed their goals. They reached millions of people,” he swallowed, reaching for a plate of pasta. “What does it matter what I think?” 

“You're the first person outside the company to play it,” Jinyoung said. “So?” his expectant eyes widened.

Mark looked away, portioning some pasta onto his plate. Fork twisting into it. “It was okay.”

Jinyoung went a little more tense in his periphery, no longer swirling that wine. “Okay?”

“I mean I don’t usually play those games,” he shrugged, taking a bite. “Was waiting for some action for a while before we got into that mart.”

“We?”

Mark stopped, looking up at seeing the smirk pulled tight on Jinyoung’s face. “They,” he corrected, purposefully, before taking another bite.

Jinyoung shrugged, “People play our games for the stories.” 

“Yeah,” Mark breathed, cutting into a piece of asparagus with far too much force. Knife scratching against the porcelain. “I get it.” 

“And the characters?” Jinyoung leaned forward on his elbow. “What did you think?”

“The android was pretty cool,” Mark noted. “What’s his name?” 

“King.” 

“I liked him.”

“Not Z?” 

“The companion character?” he looked up, raising a brow.

Jinyoung’s smirk started looking more like a wince.

“What?” Mark asked, furrowing his brows.

“I don’t like that word,” he admitted.

Mark shook his head, “Isn’t that what he is?”

Jinyoung wasn’t as quick to speak, hesitating. “I prefer co-protagonist.”

“Fine,” Mark sighed. “Co-protagonist.” He reached for another cut of steak. “He wasn’t my favorite.”

“Why’s that?” Jinyoung said, taking another sip of wine. 

“I don’t know,” Mark said, feeling his mouth go a bit looser. From the wine or the food or the conversation, he couldn’t tell. “Was it his cold, indifferent personality or the weird, demeaning power trip he seems to be on?”

“You’re being sarcastic.” 

Mark shook his head, imagining Z’s red hair, harsh words. “He just seems like a stubborn, emotionally constipated asshole.” 

“He’s protective. Of his cause. Of his friends.” Jinyoung defended. “And he’s cautious of strangers. Rightfully so.” 

“There’s a difference between being cautious and being a total dick.” 

“And which one are you?”

Mark dropped his silverware in a clatter. He glared at Jinyoung, like it was his fault, before reaching for his wine and taking a sip. Wiping at his mouth with his fingertips. 

“Plus,” Jinyoung shrugged. “It’s not like Blue seems to mind.”

“Blue is delusional,” Mark argued, pointing with glass in hand. “Thinking that Z would _ever_ want him.”

Jinyoung watched him, huffing under his breath as a smile flicked up at the corner of his mouth, “You don’t think Z likes Blue?”

“Z has someone,” Mark said firmly. “And more than that, he has a rebellion to fight for. Blue shouldn’t be a thought.”

“And yet,” Jinyoung’s voice trailed off, gaze giving as much suggestion as was needed.

Mark filled in the blanks, mind rushing to wonder if that’s where all this was going. But surely, it couldn’t be. The game was about the cause, about the Surge. It wasn’t a… “I mean what’s even there to like about Blue?” Mark sneered, sitting back in his chair. “Just that he’s the hero?” 

“He’s not the hero,” Jinyoung said softly, shaking his head.

Mark’s eyes narrowed. “Why would anyone want to play a game where the main character isn’t the hero?” 

“Well, with all due respect, you’ve only played the first chapter of the game,” he smiled. “Which brings me to my next order of business.” 

“Which is?”

“We want to extend our deal. We want you to do a series streaming the game.” 

Mark tightened up, realizing the trap he’d walked into too late. And God, he was stupid for not seeing it sooner. For seeing the wine and the food and the banter as anything but fodder to lead him to a slaughter. He drained the rest of his wine in one gulp, pushing the glass back onto the table. “I’m not interested,” he said, firmly.

“You just increased your viewership by tenfold and you want to tell me you aren’t interested?” Jinyoung’s eyes widened.

“It was a one time thing,” he said, feeling prickling frustration creeping up his spine like a slow moving spider. 

“Mark,” he scoffed. “Don't be so stubborn.” 

Mark stared at him. The wine perhaps rushing his irritation, making it peak too quickly. Making it too easy to ask exactly the question on his mind. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Why don’t you just get another streamer?” Mark bit out, sharp tone hoping to cut through him. “Why does it have to be me?”

“We’ve already done a stream,” Jinyound said, calmly. “Fans have responded well to it.”

“I’m sure they’ll respond just as well to someone else,” Mark hissed.

“Why are _you_ doing this?” Jinyoung urged. “Why won’t you accept a partnership from anyone?”

And Mark felt the heat radiating from beneath his sweats, making him feel hazy and provoked. His filter taking all the hit damage. “Because,” he snapped. “I used to trust my career to people who I thought had my best interest at heart. And it didn’t exactly end well for me, did it?”

Jinyoung didn’t move, still just as calm in the face of Mark’s outburst. But his eyes grew more intent, curious. “You left the National Team.”

“I was kicked off,” Mark corrected.

“For what?”

Mark felt the regretful bite of his anger, sinking him into something solemn. Wishing he had another glass of wine. Just to busy his hands.

“Was it because of you and him?” Jinyoung asked, softly. “Team Captain Aura?” he huffed, like merely the suggestion of Youngjae was something ridiculous.

Mark felt the sting of pain radiate. Old wounds that wouldn’t heal nicely. That still stretched and pulled when toyed with. He shook his head, “I don’t put my career in other people’s hands any more.”

He watched Jinyoung’s eyes go softer, not far off from that pity that Jackson always turned on him at the mention of Youngjae. It made Mark’s skin crawl. 

“Go on then,” Mark said, extending across the table and grabbing Jinyoung’s wine glass. Downing the last of it. Noting how much more bitter it tasted now. He smacked his lips, “Tell me how you’re different.”

“I don’t have to tell you,” Jinyoung shook his head, that softness still in his eyes. “You already know.”

And he was right. As Mark looked back at him, he could see that he was different from every eager representative that had ever reached out. Every money-hungry businessman who had ever tried to use Mark as a pawn. And yet, what was most frustrating was how he couldn’t pin down why. What made Jinyoung seem so different from everyone who came before?

His chest felt heavy, exhaling just to try and relieve it. “How many streams?”

Jinyoung didn’t smirk. “Four more,” he said. “And you’ll have finished the game.”

“You want your whole game streamed?” Mark raised his brows. “That can’t be good for business.”

“I want you to play it,” Jinyoung said, voice unwavering.

And Mark just looked at him. Not understanding it at all. He nodded like he did, “Send me the contract.”

“Come by the offices this weekend,” Jinyoung suggested. “We can sign it there.”

And Mark wanted to shut him down, but the sudden softness, the openness was too real to fight against. “Okay.”

“I have another meeting to attend,” Jinyoung said, getting up from his seat. He pulled on his wool coat. “But please,” he beckoned towards the table. “Wrap the rest of this up if you want.”

And Mark didn’t say anything. No biting comeback. No cold dismissal. He just nodded.

“Take care, Mark,” Jinyoung said, walking out of the room.

\---

Higher Games offices were in a bustling area near Gangnam, taking up two floors of a towering skyscraper. Mark showed up at the date and time Jinyoung had confirmed with him. And as he headed up the glass elevator, he looked out over the snow flurries falling on the subway station below. The higher he went, the more the pedestrians in their black winter jackets looked like diminutive ants, trailing each other as they went in and out of their nest.

When the doors opened up to the floor, Jaebeom was waiting for him. Dressed for the office. And Mark wondered why when it was a Saturday, latently realizing that this close to the game’s release meant overtime for nearly everyone.

“Morning,” he said cheerfully. “Right this way.” And he started leading Mark down a long, narrow hall, offices on either side. Mark peeking in to see some of them empty, dark, while others had occupants clicking away at keyboards, multi-monitor displays of code in front of them.

“I bet it’s crunchtime for your developers,” Mark noted.

“It’s been a brutal pace we’ve been keeping,” Jaebeom sighed. “Which is why I’m glad we are doing this now and not later. As you can imagine, I have thousands of bugs I’m dealing with.”

“Mm,” Mark hummed, wondering passively why Jaebeom had to be involved in him signing this contract at all.

“By the way,” Jaebeom said, looking over at him. “I appreciate you agreeing to this.” 

Mark’s shoulders went a little tighter, feeling awkward. “Sure,” he said, eyes on the carpet. “No problem.”

“If I may ask, what changed your mind?”

Mark looked over at him, seeing that genuine interest reflecting back. “I guess,” he sounded out, feeling for the words in the hazy places of his mind. “I just decided to give it a shot.”

Jaebeom's smile grew. “We’re really glad you did.” He turned them down the hall. “Here,” he said, pushing through a door. “We’re going to be in this conference room.”

Mark followed in behind him, eyes surveying the room. He stopped in his tracks. In the conference room, there was no table. No papers, no pens. Nothing like that. Instead, it was two cameras on tripods, soft light boxes propped up in the corners, a green screen backdrop cascading down the wall and under foot. A few people milling about, checking light meters and adjusting overhead microphones.

Mark looked to Jaebeom, eyes wide.

“I know,” Jaebeom laughed. “It’s a lot to take in.” He clapped his hands together. “If you want to put your things down, I’ll take you over to the next room where we have hair and makeup ready for you.” 

“What?” Mark said, totally frozen in place. 

“Hair and makeup,” Jaebeom said, face falling a little. “For the shoot.”

Mark stared at him. “What shoot?”

“You’re interviewing me?” Jaebeom said, wariness paling his features. “For the behind the scenes content.” 

Mark felt that frozenness of his stature cracking under pressure. Sudden heat trailing down his spine in one continuous line, blistering his tongue, his tone. “I never agreed to that.” 

“Didn’t Jinyoung…” Jaebeom’s voice trailed off, like he was answering his own question. He drew in a shaky breath. “God damn him,” he muttered. He looked around, suddenly frazzled. “Just,” he groaned. “Stay here. Let me find him. He’s probably in his office.”

“No, it’s fine,” Mark shook his head, dead of any expression. “I’ll just see myself out.”

He turned back down the hall, keeping all that boiling heat trapped up inside of himself. Feeling volatile as every breath became hotter, thicker. Seething through him. Eyes pinned on the end of the hall, on the elevators, just needing to get out. Needing to feel the chill of the January air against his skin. Feeling like he might just combust.

“Mark!”

He gritted his teeth together at the sound of Jinyoung’s voice shouting after him. Not daring to turn around, dead set on his objective. He heard the steps of his shoes getting closer and closer, closing in on him. Making him burn that much hotter.

“Mark,” Jinyoung breathed. He felt his fingers closing in around his wrist, slipping down to grab for his hand.

“Let me _go_ ,” Mark hissed through his teeth, yanking away from him. Continuing down that hallway without looking back.

“Don’t leave,” Jinyoung pleaded, something weak in his voice. “Please.”

“You tried to trick me, Jinyoung.”

“I didn’t-,”

“I was supposed to be signing contracts today,” he fumed. “You never mentioned _anything_ about filming anything.” 

“I know.”

“I trusted you,” Mark nearly shouted, finally looking back, seething with rage. But as he met Jinyoung’s eyes, he saw him. Dressed as close to casual as he’d ever seen. A white t-shirt, a pair of jeans, thick round glasses across his face. Not looking like that cutthroat CEO, but younger, softer. And it caught Mark off guard immediately. Made his anger dial down just a few notches. Replacing the space it had been occupying with something else.

“You trusted me?” Jinyoung asked, pushing his glasses up his face. A tint of genuine surprise in his round eyes.

Mark scoffed with the residual disgust lining his mouth as he turned, starting to walk away again.

“Hey, wait,” Jinyoung called after him. His fingers weaving into Mark’s hand again, tugging him as he pulled open an empty office.

And Mark couldn’t explain how he didn’t yank away this time, how he felt a little weaker to Jinyoung’s touch, letting himself be pulled inside.

Jinyoung shut the door behind them, flicking on the fluorescent lights overhead that glinted off the lenses of his glasses. “Just listen to me.”

Mark shook his head, “I don’t need to listen-”

“Are you this obstinate with everyone?” Jinyoung looked at him, brows creasing together. “Or am I special?” 

His teeth gritted together again, eyes narrowing. “I’m particularly so with you since you seem to think you’re so _entitled_ to me.” 

Jinyoung sighed, rolling his eyes. “I just wanted to get you more involved,” he said like it was a reasonable excuse.

Mark glared at him, simmering a little hotter, “I never said I _wanted_ to be more involved. In fact, I said the opposite on multiple occasions.”

“I knew you’d say no.” 

“So, the fact that I’m leaving shouldn’t be a surprise then,” Mark forced a tight smile, reaching for the door.

Jinyoung was quicker, sliding himself between Mark and the handle. 

Mark looked at him, blocking the exit. Sure that it should be making him more angry, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t at all.

“It’s just a few interviews,” Jinyoung said, voice softer now. Nearly soothing. “It’s filmed content for the behind the scenes. Things we use for viral marketing, social media. That’s all.”

“That’s not what I do,” Mark shook his head. “I’m a streamer.” 

“You’re a public figure,” Jinyoung argued.

“Because you seem dead set on _making_ me one,” Mark glared. “When I never asked for this. I never asked to look like your _stupid_ character.” 

“Calm down.”

“I don’t need this,” Mark shook his head. “ _You_ need this. _You_ need _me_ -” 

“You’re right. I need you.”

And just the way he said it, firm and sure and simple, had Mark pausing, unclenching.

“Look,” Jinyoung sighed, pushing his glasses up again. “It’s your choice, Mark. Walk out and I’ll rip up our contract. I won’t call you again.” He held his eyes, but this time there was nothing cocky there. “But people want to see Tuanzy. Half a million of them tuned in to watch him play my game.”

Mark tried to speak up, voice suddenly weaker in his throat. “It’s nothing,” he shook his head, eyes averting to the side. “It’s just cause-”

“Stop it,” Jinyoung whispered. “Stop diminishing yourself. For just a moment.”

Mark looked at him, falling quiet again. Throat even weaker now.

Jinyoung’s eyes ghosted over his features. “What do you need from me?” he asked, sounding so reassuring. “Tell me and I’ll do it. Money. Gifts. Connections. Anything you want. I’ll give you anything you want.”

Mark could hear the desperation in his voice, but none of it made any sense. Totally unrecognizable from the man at the conference, the man at the restaurant. He shook his head. “I don’t get it,” he said through that weak throat. His voice coming out hushed, rough in the space between them. “Why are you so invested in this?” 

Jinyoung’s mouth twisted up, thinking for a long moment. “It’s my first game,” he finally said. “I don’t get a second chance at this.” 

“But what does that have to do with me?” Mark asked, nearly begging for the answer.

“Because you’re perfect.”

Mark felt a flux of warmth rush up into his cheeks, his ears. Nothing like that raging fire he’d felt just moments ago.

Jinyoung’s shoulders went slightly tight, leaning up a little straighter against the door. “The perfect person for this job,” he said, making it sound like a correction.

Mark took a deep breath. He shook his head, “I’m not a journalist.” 

“The questions are prewritten.” 

“I’m not a host,” he shrugged. “I’m not personable. I’m not friendly.” 

“Just like Z then?” Jinyoung suggested, eyes getting just a touch of that smug little glint. But it read so differently now. Not like power play, but like a soft jest that was just between them.

Mark just stared, too caught up in trying to understand it.

Jinyoung took a deep breath, chest widening beneath his t-shirt. Letting it out as he spoke, “If you can manage a stream, this will be nothing.” He reached up, straightening Mark’s jacket on his shoulders. And again, it didn’t feel like he was patronizing him, but something else. “Just be the person you are on the streams,” he said, hands smoothing down his arms. “And everyone will fall in love with you.” 

Mark had that feeling again. That he was seeing so much more of him. And reconciling these different identities that Jinyoung kept feeding to him in pieces felt like an impossible task. And in the moment, he wondered when it would become too much entirely. When he would realize what a waste of effort it all was. But in the meeting of their eyes, in the space between their bodies, the only thing that he could see with any sort of clarity was that no matter how angry Jinyoung made him, it was eclipsed by the need to keep piecing him together.

Mark’s hand went to Jinyoung’s hip, fingers gripping into the curve there. Less firm than he’d imagined it to be. Feeling the man going slightly tense as Mark nudged him to the side, drawing his hand away as he reached for the door handle, escaping back into the hall. But this time, he didn’t walk back towards the elevators. No, he turned the opposite way. Back towards the conference room.

“Mark,” he heard Jinyoung calling after him.

“Not a word,” he said, as he kept walking.

\---

The lights were bright. Hot and blinding as Mark tried not to touch the sticky film of makeup on his face. Tried not to adjust the tight fit of trousers they’d handed him, the button down shirt the stylist had kept far too open for winter. Instead, he tried to focus on the cards he was clutching onto for dear life in his hands. On keeping his face neutral, after a rogue comment from the cameraman that he looked in pain. But truthfully, it was because he didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be doing this.

The only hint of consolation was that this first interview was with Jaebeom. Who made him feel at ease just with his proximity. Who had assured them before they started that it was just like a conversation between two friends. So he tried desperately to hang onto his kind smile when he spoke, the meaningful pause he took after each question was read. Tried to focus on his thoughtful answers instead of everything else that felt so much louder.

“What type of gamer would you expect to feel most at home playing this game?” Mark read, trying to remember to smile when it was his turn to speak.

“Well,” Jaebeom tilted his head, messing with the back of his mullet for a moment. “The game is rated M for mature.”

“For violence?” Mark asked. “Language?”

“Yes,” Jaebeom said, voice pitching a little higher. “And some sexual content.”

Mark sat still, mind processing. Wondering what that could mean. Would that mean for...

“Other than that,” Jaebeom smiled. “This game is intended to appeal to a wide range of players. I think we here at Higher Games see that as the beauty of creating something narrative-driven like this game. Therefore, that has always been our goal. So whether the player is someone like you, who played Gameboy as a kid. Someone who got their first Xbox just to play Halo as a launch title. Or someone who has never played a video game before and is just looking for an alternate form of entertainment.”

Mark stopped, cards sinking down into his lap. “How did you…” he paused, feeling the silence of the room, the heat of the lights. He filed that question away for later. Another one springing up instead. “Don’t you worry about losing audiences that want more action?” he asked, not looking at his cards anymore.

Jaebeom huffed, “You make it sound like an insult.”

“It’s not,” Mark shook his head. “I’m just…” his words trailed off, not sure where he was going with that.

Jaebeom looked at him, nodding, “People get much more than just headshots from our stories. And we know that When the Dust Settles will be no different.”

“That’s it,” said the cameraman. “Let’s end it there.”

The crew clapped, Mark’s shoulders falling as he looked to Jaebeom.

The man stood up from his stool, extending a hand, “Thank you for that. I know it... wasn’t what you planned for today.”

Mark shook it. “Well, you made it suck a little less,” he smiled.

“I try,” he shrugged, shyly. “I got to get back to work, but I’ll see you around, Mark.”

“You too,” he waved, standing up from the stool and adjusting his clothing. He handed the cards to a crew member, walking past the bright lights towards his things in the back of the room. But when he got there, Jinyoung was already leaning up against the wall. And maybe it was the blinding lights still making stars in Mark’s eyes, but it almost looked like he was wearing a smile, a real one.

“Not so bad, right?” 

Mark looked around, careful not to catch anyone else’s ear. “How did Jaebeom know that?” 

“Know what?” Jinyoung said, smile faltering.

“That I used to play Gameboy,” he said. “That I started out on Halo.”

“Mark,” Jinyoung rolled his eyes. “You and every other gamer from our generation.” 

And it didn’t placate Mark enough, but he wasn’t willing to push it. “I’m going to go change,” he murmured, heading for the door.

Jinyoung touched his arm, stopping him. “No,” he said, eyes lightening. “Keep the clothes. They look good on you.”

And Mark felt the touch like it was frantic static, jumbling his thoughts and his words. He pulled away from it, trying to clear his head, “Can I leave then?” 

“You’ve had a long day,” Jinyoung said, hands sliding into the pockets of his jeans. “Maybe we could grab dinner. So, I can show you my appreciation for being so flexible.” 

“I have to go,” he said, flatly. “I have a stream to do.” 

“You could skip it,” Jinyoung shrugged. “I’m sure your fans can go without you for one night.” 

And Mark couldn’t help but think. Because hadn’t Jinyoung just been raving about how much fans wanted to see him? Why was he now trying to pull Mark away from them? Which was it? “Actually,” he said, pushing the questions down. “I have a contract to uphold. With your company.”

Jinyoung’s smile staled. “Oh, right,” he said. “That.” 

“Yeah,” Mark said. “That.” 

“Maybe another time?” Jinyoung suggested.

Mark didn’t meet his eyes. “Maybe,” he murmured, pulling on his coat and finding the quickest possible exit from the room.

\---

When Mark returned home, the last thing he wanted to do was play more of that stupid game. Feeling like he just couldn’t escape it. He took a shower before the stream. Eager to wash off that film of makeup, to leave those clothes that weren’t his balled up in the corner of the bathroom where he wouldn’t have to deal with them for a little while. He changed back into his own comfortable clothing, feeling that much better when there was a knock at his door.

He went to see what it was, eyes traveling down to the floor to see a delivery meal waiting for him. He ducked down, smelling the aroma of soup wafting up towards him. So warm and soothing. He reached for the little note at the top, lifting it to his eyes.

 _Make sure you eat,_ it said, little blue heart sticker stuck on.

And Mark smiled, tracing the heart with his finger, before bringing it inside.


	4. Act II

“It’s not safe,” his sister’s voice rang in his ears. Breaking up the blackness. “We need to go.”

“But what about Melody?” Blue argued, hearing his voice pitched higher. “What about Mom?”

“We can’t help them,” the image of her looked back. She was shaking her head, eyes glistening with tears. “Please,” she begged. “Trust me. Come with me.”

And he felt so sad, so broken. Wanting to cry, but everything was so rushed. He couldn’t. He felt so nauseous, head was pounding and pulse quickening as he took his first real breaths of the day. He opened his eyes, feeling dizzy as he saw the sun high in the sky. The car stopped. He tried to settle his stomach, his throbbing head. Telling himself it was just a bad dream. But why did it feel so real?

He felt something warm pressing down on his thighs, but when he looked down, all he could see was a head of bright red hair. Z was nestled in his lap, sleeping silently. His nose brushing up against Blue’s tummy. Blue reached out, smoothing his fingers through Z’s hair. Feeling him draw in a breath, nuzzling closer into him before settling back into sleep.

The throbbing in Blue’s head, the churn of his stomach, seemed to ease. A smile tugging at his mouth.

Blue looked up, outside of the car. It was pulled up in front of a diner, along a row of other cars. Blue squinted his eyes in the windows, catching sight of King and Dandy leaning onto the counter as the waitress handed them two greasy paper bags. They smiled, waved before coming out into the lot, getting back in the car.

“Good morning, Baby Blue,” King said as soon as he fell into the passenger seat. Leaning over the back of the chair to smile at Blue.

“Good morning,” Blue tried to smile back. “Why didn’t you wake us up?” 

“You both were in dire need of sleep,” King insisted. “Plus,” he added, a little lighter. “You two looked so cute together.”

Blue looked down at Z still in his lap, fingers combing the hair off his neck.

“Don’t worry,” Dandy held up the greasy bag of fast food. “We got enough for everyone who eats.” He put the bags into King’s lap, starting the car and pulling out of the lot. “Where are we heading?”

“To Z’s workshop,” King said. “We have some things to discuss.”

“Like what?” Blue asked, leaning in a little more before feeling Z’s face pressing up against his stomach. He eased back a little, making sure not to wake him.

“ _We_ have some things to discuss,” Dandy repeated. “As in Z and King and I. The Surge here.”

“Sorry, Blue,” King said, looking back over the seat with soft eyes. “It’s just Surge intel.”

Blue’s shoulders fell minisculely, feeling a little left out. He nodded, “I understand.”

Dandy turned a little too sharply onto the main road, tossing Z and Blue to the right. Z groaned, stirring again. Eyes pressed shut and arms folding together over his chest. “Shh,” Blue soothed, fingertips grazing the hair above his ear. “It’s okay,” he whispered, feeling Z nuzzle further into his thighs. 

King turned up the radio, drowning out any whine from the tires. “Good morning, all you pretty boys and killer toys,” Ars’ voice broke up the quiet. “It’s another lovely day in the Dust.”

“And another lovely day for some wicked good music,” Def noted.

“And just to keep us humble,” Ars sighed, tone dripping with sarcasm. “Let us not forget who invented music himself. Mr. Night Lark. Our favorite evil tyrant. The reason we do what we do.”

“Yes, indeed,” Def laughed. “The man who also invented nanotech and pharmaceuticals if he is to be believed as a credible source.”

“Are they serious?” Blue blinked. “Was all of that from one man?”

“No, it’s a joke, Blue,” Dandy scoffed. “Night Lark would say he invented humans themselves if he thought the masses would believe it.”

“Enough about him,” Ars groaned, nearly as if he could hear the conversation in the car. “Let’s jump back into the music, shall we? Here is PAX AM on SPRW.”

The music started to play. Fast paced punk, vocals spit into the mic, raging guitars being shredded along their strings. And Blue’s eyes briefly looked down at Z’s tranquil face, wondering how he could sleep through such noise.

“So,” Blue sat up a little, speaking over the music. “Who is he?”

“Who?” Dandy asked from the driver’s seat.

“Night Lark.”

Dandy’s eyes widened in the rearview mirror. “You don’t know who Night Lark is?”

Blue shrugged, “Not from the city, remember?”

King turned in his seat, looking back at him. “He’s the head of Lark Industries, the leader of Nova City,” he explained. “He’s the reason the city lives under tyranny. Because he only cares about control, power, wealth. He doesn’t care about transparency, truth, equality.” 

“So he lies?” Blue furrowed his brows together. 

“His company has total control,” King said. “They write all the city’s textbooks, history books, databases. They fill them with whatever propaganda he sees fit to keep their citizens complicit to their control.”

“But what about real books? From the Gas Ages?” Blue asked, thinking about that novel in the bottom of his satchel.

“He had all of the books in the city burned up,” King shrugged. “His truth is the only one that matters.”

Blue’s chest sank at the thought of all those stories, all those characters, all those words, being turned to ash. Ones he’d never get the opportunity to read. “But how do the people not know?”

“They don’t know any better,” King said, sounding utterly defeated. “It’s all they were raised to believe.”

Blue sat back, dazed as the conversation conjured images. A strong, booming voice. A stack of stolen books. A harsh looking man on the television. And it stirred feelings alongside the images. Fear and anxiety and shame. But it all still felt so foggy, so nauseating. Impossible to reach.

Z groaned in his lap, turning onto his back and opening his eyes. Looking up and meeting Blue’s eyes for a single moment before he quickly sat up, leaning into the other side of the car and making distance between them.

King looked over his shoulder, seeing Z awake. “Rise and shine, beautiful.”

Z rubbed his face with his hands, letting them comb through his hair. Smoothing it in the opposite direction that Blue had.

Blue leaned a little closer, speaking over the radio, “How’s your shoulder?”

Z looked back at him for a moment, face a little paler than Blue had remembered. “It’s fine,” he breathed. 

“We’ll be at your place in a few more mile markers,” Dandy said.

Blue watched Z turn away to look out the window, settling his sights on the expanses of desert passing by. And it made Blue feel a small pang in the middle of his chest.

When they pulled up to a garage in the middle of nowhere, Z was the first one to hastily get out, slamming the door behind him. The rest of them followed, watching as Z unlocked the door. King pushing it up lazily with one hand like it was made of paper. Inside, the garage was fairly tight. A couch in the corner, a few computers and displays, shelves stacked with salvaged tech equipment, and a worktable that had bits and pieces of projects sprawled about.

“Alright,” Z said, taking a seat on a stool near the table and clearing off the table. “Let’s do this. King, plug in.”

“Ugh, Z?” Dandy put the bags of food to the side, leaning over the table. “Are you sure you want him around while we do this?” his neck pulled towards Blue in the doorway.

Z was quiet for a moment. He sighed. “Blue,” he called, looking over at him. “This is confidential stuff.”

“Who would I tell?” Blue’s face twisted up. “You three are the only living humans I know.”

“Weeeellllll,” King’s shoulders went tight.

“Two and a half,” Blue corrected.

Z stared at him, looking tired, distressed. He ran a hand across his face. “Just have a seat in the corner and keep quiet,” he dictated, pointing to the couch.

“Don’t mind me,” Blue murmured, sneaking over and sinking down into the tattered cushions. “I’ll just be reading.” He pulled out his book from his bag, flipping open to where he’d left off.

“Alright,” Z refocused, hitting the table with both hands. “We have one gas station owner who was a known Lark Industries associate. We know he’s been giving gas to Crows in the area. What were we able to find?”

Dandy was first, pulling a stack of files onto the table. “The filing cabinets had a few transport records, trips he’s taken in and out of the city. Presumably to negotiate deals at the headquarters,” he shuffled through the stack. “We see him keep receipts of the Crows transactions in order to bill back the company,” he held one up to his face. “I mean at least he is charging them double what he would charge a local out here.”

Blue’s eyes found themselves flicking up over the edge of the book, watching from a distance. Unable to focus on reading at all.

“Doesn’t get us very far,” Z murmured. “King?” he asked, directing his gaze over at the android.

“I had better luck,” he smiled. He started typing on the computer, pulling up files onto the screen. “So there are a few recent transmissions from his contacts inside the city. And they seem to hint at the fact that Lark Industries is employing a larger Crow presence in the Dust.”

He pulled open the log, everyone looking up at the messages typed out along the screen.

_More Crows flying from the nest. Ready enough for twenty vehicles._

Blue gasped. “Twenty?” his eyes widened. “And we only ran into one yesterday?”

Z glared over at him. “I thought you were reading?”

Blue went silent, sinking back into his seat and raising the book to his eyes.

Z looked back over to King. “Find anything else?”

“Yeah, King,” Dandy leaned on the edge of the table, crossing his arms over his chest. “We need to be able to give some kind of count back to the Surge.”

Z shook his head. “A count would be great, but it doesn’t change much,” he disagreed. “We know they are here. We’ve seen the spikes all over the place. The real thing we need to know is why? Why are they here?”

“Well,” King started to type. “I know something about that.” The screen moved quickly, flicking through files and text. “This was from headquarters to our friend at the gas station. It had _multiple_ layers of encryption guarding it.”

_Night Lark has gone cold. Titanic looking for the chicks. Crows will put them to rest so that he can take the throne._

“Gone cold?” Dandy questioned. “As in Night Lark is dead?”

And the room went silent, four pairs of eyes on the screen. Blue kept reading the transmission, the room, trying to make sense of it, but he couldn’t understand.

Z groaned, putting his head into his hands. “This is bad,” he mumbled.

Blue sat up taller. “But isn’t he a tyrant?” he spoke up.

Z’s eyes snapped to him, “What did I say-”

“If he’s dead, isn’t that good news for the city?” Blue questioned. “Doesn’t that mean freedom for the citizens?”

The room fell silent again. Even Z’s mouth sealed tight. 

Z looked away. “Answer him, King.”

“Night Lark had three biological children,” the android started to explain. “All of whom were deemed missing sixteen years ago. The person the transmission is referencing? Titanic? He wasn’t a biological child. He was an orphan of an affluent family that Night Lark’s wife took in because he was the same age as their youngest son. But he’s been Lark’s assistant for _years._ Coming up in the ranks to be his right-hand man. And he’s just as brutal, just as power-hungry, if not more.”

“That’s the chicks then,” Blue blinked. “Night Lark’s missing children.”

“Yes,” Z nodded. “If Titanic kills them, he becomes next in line to run the company. And if he comes into power, things could get even worse for Nova City, for all of us.”

“Z,” King furrowed his brows. “I think you’re missing an important piece of information here.”

“I’m not, King,” Z said, frustrated and stony. “I know what it means.”

Blue looked between them, “What does it mean?”

“They are still _alive_ ,” King urged, a smile breaking across his face. But his eyes still held so much sadness, pain. “The kids are alive.”

“We don’t know that,” Z rushed to say. “And they’d hardly be kids anymore, King.”

“Where could they even be?” Dandy questioned, face twisting up tight. “I mean it’s been sixteen years.”

“Z,” King said, getting closer and grasping onto the man’s arm. Keeping his voice steady. “I have to find them.”

Dandy shook his head, “Before we do that, we _need_ to tell the Surge about this.”

“Hold on,” Z held up his hands. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Ahead of ourselves?” Dandy’s eyes widened. “Z. This is game-changing intel. Knowing Night Lark is dead? This might change everything the cause has been preparing for.”

“Dandy,” King glared at his friend. “Telling the Surge is time. It’s bureaucracy. It’s slowing us down. And every moment that we aren’t looking for those kids, the Crows are getting closer than we are.”

“So, you think we should just go rogue? Not tell anyone?” Dandy stood up, getting heated. “You know that’s not how we do things. Z, come on. You can’t be agreeing with him.”

“I’m not agreeing with _anyone_ just yet,” he said, visibly trying to keep his calm. “All I’m suggesting is that we sit on this for a day. Keep it to ourselves. And tomorrow, we vote on what we’ll do next.”

The room went silent, rife with tension between differing opinions. Blue looked around at them, feeling out of place.

“Look,” Z looked around at them. “Let’s just eat, relax, take some time before tonight, okay?”

“Whatever,” King sighed, the screen going blank as he got up. Starting to walk back outside.

Blue gulped, nervously breaking the silence. “What’s tonight?” 

Z didn’t look up as he started rifling through the paper bags, sticking a few fries in his mouth. “Tonight,” he said, around them. “The Surge are having a party.”

\---

When night fell, the gang rode out further into the desert until Blue couldn’t see a gas station, a grocery store, or a cheap restaurant around for miles. Everything towards the horizon looked so black and dark. The silhouette of the mountains in the distance barely visible against the starry night sky.

“Here we are,” Z said, behind the wheel.

Blue looked up through the windshield, spotting a house in the distance. It was swarmed with colorful cars, high walls that blocked it in. And as they pulled in closer, Blue could feel the thump of bass rattling the windows. Making his nerves crawl up into his throat.

“What is this place?” he asked, looking over at Z.

“Surge rotate meeting locations to keep Crows off our back,” he said, looking up into the rearview mirror to fix his hair. “This place is an abandoned house out here.”

“Which makes it the perfect location to have some fun,” Dandy laughed. “Let’s go!”

Blue followed them past the walls into a backyard area with a pool. All the water had seemingly evaporated, so Surge were sitting on the edge. Drinking and chatting over the music as a few people were doing colorful graffiti against the pool’s walls. 

And as Blue’s eyes panned across the crowd, he was shocked at how every single person looked so… unique Bright hair in a variety of styles from peachy pink mohawks to waist length neon green braids. The shades of skin from lucid porcelain all the way to rich, glowing umber. And their clothes had the same amount of vibrancy. Jackets dotted with studs and patches. Fishnets ripped at the knees. Facial jewelry glistening under the lights strung overhead.

And all of it made Blue feel exhilarated before his eyes panned down to his mismatch of white and beige and baby blue. Fingers feeling the overgrown black hair on the nape of his neck. And in the moment, he felt outstandingly unimpressive.

A few partygoers approached them, sharings hugs and greetings. Z getting caught up in a conversation with someone almost immediately. 

“Let’s go inside,” King said, close to Blue’s ear as he intertwined their fingers and dragged him along. “He always takes forever.”

Inside, the lights were lower, subtly strobing between blue and pink as the music played. People were dotted around the kitchen, sitting on the counters. Chatting and laughing while a few were swaying their hips to the beat. And it was so chaotic that Blue felt content on watching from the sidelines. The idea of participating just too overwhelming to consider.

“Here,” Dandy called, putting a cup into Blue’s hand. “Drink this.”

He looked down into the red liquid swirling around. Smelling the overpowering sugary sweet fruit scent. “What is it?”

“Who cares?” Dandy scoffed, taking a sip of his own. “It’s strong and that’s all that matters.”

Blue tipped the cup back, experimentally tasting. And it was just as fruity, just as sweet as it smelled. Barely a bite of alcohol in it. So he took another sip.

Dandy slung an arm around his shoulder. “I’ll be your right hand man tonight,” he said. “I’ll help you steer clear of the couples. They can be downright nauseating when they finally get their hands on each other.”

“Why don’t they live together?” Blue asked, wiping his mouth against his hand. “Or at least ride together?”

“Surge have a rule,” Dandy told him. “You can’t ride with someone you’ve exchanged names with.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a distraction. A weakness,” he shrugged. “So when they finally get to see each other, you can bet it’s pretty carnal.”

Blue felt the heat trickle into his cheeks at the suggestion. Mind rushing. “But Z and Ars haven’t-” he stopped himself. Remembering the way Z told him in the mart, like he was divulging a secret.

“What?” Dandy asked, seeing the hesitation in his features.

Blue shook his head, “Nevermind.”

In the living room, people were sitting on the couches. Their eyes raising as the three entered the room. One of them in a tactical green jacket, baggy black pants and a gray headband that pushed his shaggy black hair out of his smiling face.

“Blue!” King yelled, dragging his arm until they were standing before him. “This is Def.” He turned to the man, “This is our newest addition.”

“Nice to meet you,” the man smiled, raising his cup and taking a sip.

“You as well,” Blue nodded, suddenly feeling a bit flustered. “You look… different from what I pictured,” he noted. Fumbling to correct himself, “I mean like from hearing your voice. On the radio. It’s not a bad thing, it’s just. You’re… you’re more handsome. Than I imagined.”

Def laughed, eyes crescenting, “King. Where did you find this guy?”

“In the middle of nowhere,” the android said, wrapping his arms around Blue’s waist. “He’s like a newborn baby,” he pinched his cheek.

“Ow,” Blue whined, batting the android’s hand away with a smile. “Stop it.”

“Fine,” King giggled. “Anyway, I think that me and Def are going to get away for a little bit.” He eyed the man on the couch. “Shall we?”

Def’s smile fell, eyes going wide. “Yeah,” he breathed, getting up hastily. “Yeah, let’s go find some place to talk.”

Blue watched them weave through the crowd together, until someone tugged on his arm.

“Blue!” Dandy cheered. “Here. Meet Ars.”

Another flood of nerves came up as he turned to another man on the couch. He was dressed more neatly. And orange sweater vest and tailor corduroys. His legs crossed and his hands in his lap as he stared up at Blue, no sweet smile on his face. Eyes raking over the length of his body.

“Hi,” Blue smiled weakly. “You’re the other DJ, then?”

Ars just looked back at him, expression lifeless.

Z slid in from behind Blue, collapsing onto the couch next to Ars. “Hey, you,” he tossed an arm around him. “How’s it going?” 

“Fine,” Ars said, not drawing his eyes away from Blue standing over him. “Who is this?”

Z looked up at Blue for a moment. “This is Baby Blue,” he said, something in his tone just a little too cheery. Forced. “He’s riding with us now.”

“Nice to meet you,” Blue tried to smile, but it was hard with Ars’ dead eyes trained on him.

“What’s your story?” the DJ asked, tone thick with distrust.

“Ars,” Z groaned. “Don’t-”

“No,” Blue shook his head. “It’s fine,” he took a breath. “My sister got killed by Crows. Z found me in the middle of nowhere. Saved my life.” 

“Sounds like him,” Ars said, unimpressed. “Always trying to be the hero, aren’t we, Z?”

“He was going to die out there,” Z argued, furrowing his brows.

“So, what is your plan now?” Ars asked Blue. “I’m sure you’re taking up a lot of space in the car.”

Blue’s stomach sank, feeling flayed open by the emotionless stare of his eyes, the dismissive edge of his words. “I don’t really know,” he admitted, shyly. “I’m still getting the lay of the land.”

“Hm,” Ars hummed. And with that, he stood up from the couch, coming up face to face with Blue. Making him shrink smaller under his harsh presence. Ars looked him up and down once more. “Good luck.” And with that, he turned, walking away.

Blue turned back to Z and Dandy. “What’s his problem?”

But before they could answer, a woman came around. Bright teal hair and smudged out black shadow around her eyes. “Can I interest you gentlemen in a little snack?” she held a tray out. Groupings of medicine laid out.

“What are these?” Blue asked, studying them.

“Lark Industries drugs,” Dandy smiled. “These ones,” he pointed to a pink tablet. “We call them fizzies. They make you tingle all over. Will keep you up for days if you take too many.” He pointed to a green capsule. “These ones are fades. They make you feel like you are melting. In a good way,” he giggled. “And these one’s-”

“Oh, I know these,” Blue perked up. “My sister used to give me these vitamins.”

Dandy stopped, looking at him quizzically.

“What?” Blue asked, feeling self-conscious.

“Blue, those aren’t vitamins,” he said, seriously. “They are blanks.” 

“Blanks?” 

“They suppress memory.” 

Blue felt a sudden bit of panic, looking down at the white pills again. Noting the shape, the little L etched into them. He’d seen them thousands of times. “Why would they suppress memories?”

“They use them in the city to keep quiet people,” Dandy explained. “People who know things, have seen things.” 

Blue stared at them, not understanding. He looked up to Dandy’s wide eyes, looking over at Z on the couch who was sitting forward. Stare centered on him.

Blue swallowed. “I’m sorry,” he shook his head. “I must have confused them with something else.”

Dandy exhaled, face softening. “Evidently so,” he said, reaching for a green fade capsule. “Bottoms up, Blue,” he said, chasing it down with his drink.

Blue looked up to the woman with the tray. “I think I’ll stick with this,” he said, holding up his cup.

Dandy took a seat on the couch next to Z. “Have a seat, Blue,” he said.

Blue looked at Z, seeing his eyes still. His face tight. Stony and pensive and centered on Blue. And it made him feel a sideshow attraction, something weird and foreign. Made him want to run and hide. “I’m going to get a refill,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

Blue went to the kitchen, draining the last of his cup on the way and picking up another one. Desperate to not have to think about the intimidating glare of Ars’ eyes. Or even worse, the way Z had looked at him. Like he was some kind of alien. He downed another cup, feeling it spin his head. Making his skin go hot, pulling at his scarf like he needed to feel the night chill. He grabbed a third cup, taking it outside with him.

He walked around the edge of the pool, looking at the Surge laughing and smiling. They were having so much fun. And he just felt so out of place. He saw King sitting alone at the pool’s edge. His eyes focused on his dangling feet, a smile absent from his handsome face.

“Hey,” Blue said, taking a seat next to him. “What’s up? Where’s Def?”

King looked over at him. Silver, glowing eyes flickering. “He just… he’s walking around somewhere,” he said, unconvincing. “I just wanted to get some fresh air.”

“King,” Blue blinked. “You don’t breathe.”

“Oh,” King looked away. “Right.”

Blue reached over, putting a hand to his knee. “What happened?”

King looked at him, shoulders falling. “I told him about…” he looked around, voice whispering a bit softer. “What we found out today.”

“You did?” Blue’s eyes widened. Knowing Z had said not to tell anyone. “Why?”

“He’s my person. My everything,” King shrugged. “So I tell him everything.”

“And?”

“He doesn’t want us going after Lark’s kids,” King said, sounding defeated.

“Why not?”

“He thinks it’s too dangerous,” he said. “The four of us racing towards the same targets as a hundred or so Crows?”

And Blue saw his point. “But you feel strongly about it,” he suggested, trying to look into his face.

“I do,” King said, voice firm.

“Why?”

King was quiet for a moment, lips pressing together in thought. “Night Lark’s wife? Her name was Sonata,” he said. “She was a brilliant technological mastermind. The designer behind many of Lark Industries most impactful creations.”

“So they weren’t even Night Lark’s inventions at all?”

King huffed. “Men love to take credit for a woman’s work,” he joked. “Sonata was my creator,” he said. “But she wasn’t like her husband. She wanted freedom for Nova City’s citizens. And she never got to see that happen.”

“What happened?”

King got colder, eyes drawn down into his hands. “They used to fight a lot, Night and Sonata. Because they wanted totally different things. But of course, Night was the head of the company. His word was all that mattered. Still, she tried to rebel in small ways. Helping those who needed it. Finding empathy for things like me. Any way she could without her husband finding out.” He looked up at Blue. “But he eventually did.”

Blue leaned in, waiting on his next words.

“She wasn’t expecting her husband home that night. When he came in, she had me keep the children in the bedroom. She told me to keep them safe,” he said. “Night and Sonata fought, worse than I had ever heard. I could hear him hurting her. The kids could hear it too. They were terrified,” he said.

Blue reached out, holding onto his hand. 

“He strangled her,” King said, looking down into the empty, graffitied pool. “And when he found me, he had me wiped, sold into slavery. I never saw the kids again. Not until years later when I saw a news broadcast that said they’d gone missing right after their mother’s death. I thought…. Maybe Night had killed them too. That’s all I could think would have happened to them,” he shook his head. “But apparently not. Apparently, they are still out there.” He looked over at Blue, smiling softly. “It was my job to take care of them. To keep them safe. And I couldn’t,” he said, looking guilty. “Their father was evil, but they weren’t. They never did anything wrong.”

“You will find them,” Blue nodded, squeezing his hand. “I’m sure you will.”

“Def isn’t so sure,” King murmured. “He thinks the Crows will find us first.”

“Def is just scared,” Blue said. “He loves you. He doesn’t want to see you hurt.”

King sat there a moment, processing. He let go of Blue’s hand. “I should patch things up. Before the night ends,” he said, getting up. “What are you going to do?”

Blue sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “I guess I’ll go back in there,” he said. “Though it seems like no one even wants me here except you.” He took another gulp from his cup, noticing how the taste was getting better and better.

King smiled, reaching out to hold his cheek, “One thing’s for sure. Someone keeps staring.”

Blue furrowed his brows, “What are you talking about?”

“Who do you think?” King laughed. “A certain red haired insurgent.”

Blue’s eyes flashed towards the sliding glass doors along the wall of the house, seeing the couch in the living room. Watching Z’s eyes turn away.

“What’s he staring at?” Blue asked, looking back up to King.

King smiled. “You.”

“Me?” Blue’s eyebrows shot up, taken aback.

“He’s spent sixty-seven percent of this conversation with his eyes all over you,” King noted.

“How do you-?’

“Shiny,” he laughed.

Blue felt the flutter of his chest, the alcohol making his head spin with wild ideas. He took another sip of his drink, trying to swallow them down. “What’s the deal with him and Ars anyway?”

“As if either of them would ever open up to anyone,” King rolled his eyes. “Why? Do you know something?” he said, looking at Blue.

He felt his heart racing awake. 

“Oh my god, you do,” King’s eyes widened.

“No, I don’t,” he shook his head.

“You’re lying,” King stooped down in front of him. “What did he tell you?”

And maybe if it hadn’t been an android who could tell when he’s lying, maybe if it hadn’t been three drinks in, Blue would have been better at keeping his mouth shut. “Ars wants to exchange names,” he admitted. “Z doesn’t.”

King giggled, a bright little trill of laughter from deep in his chest. Looking way too delighted by the news. “Well, I doubt it will happen now,” he stood back up.

“Why’s that?” Blue said, creasing his brows together.

“I should go and find Def,” King said with a wave as he disappeared back into the crowd.

Blue sighed, looking into his drink and downing the rest of it. He got up, finding his legs a little shakier than before. He went inside, but the crowd felt even louder, even busier now. And he just didn’t want to face it. He dodged the living room, walking down a hall and trying doorknobs. The first one was a bedroom, a flash of strangers’ bodies that had Blue gasping and backing out. He tried the next one, finding a bathroom. He slipped inside, closing the door tightly behind him. Thankful that the music was a little quieter, the chatter a little more distant.

“What are you _doing_?”

Blue turned, seeing Z at the sink washing his hands.

“Nothing,” Blue said, shaking his head. “What are you doing?”

Z turned the water off. “What does it look like?” he said, drying them on a hand towel. “You can’t just barge into bathrooms like that.”

Blue leaned up against the door. Eyes him washing over him. His red leather jacket was off and from where Blue stood, he could see his torso peeking through the wide holes of his tank. He took a deep breath, head spinning from the drinks. “What’s up with your boyfriend?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Z shook his head, “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“I’m talking about Ars,” Blue said. “Why is he acting like he hates me?”

Z shrugged, looking up into the mirror and brushing his hands through his hair, “He takes a while to warm up to people.”

“You both seem to have that in common, then.”

“Maybe we do.” 

Blue watched him. Arms raised over his head, bits of black ink dotting his skin. Not far off from how he’d looked dying his hair in that mart’s bathroom. Blue’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth, putting effort into speaking, “Are you sure there isn’t another reason?”

Z looked over at him, face tight with confusion. Giving nothing away. “Like what?”

Blue felt the rush of alcohol making his head too light. He came closer, his hands coming up on either side of the sink. Boxing Z in. “You were staring at me sixty-seven percent of the time I was talking to King.”

Z’s eyes slid down his features. He looked away. “God damn, shiny,” he muttered under his breath.

Blue felt the smile pull at his mouth. “Why were you staring at me?” he asked, reaching up to the man’s chin and drawing his face closer.

“Stop,” Z pushed his hand away.

“What?” Blue giggled, hazy and pleased.

Z looked at him, holding his eyes with such uncertainty. “I’ve been drinking,” he said, like it was an excuse.

“So have I.”

“Blue,” he sighed. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

“Mmm,” Blue hummed. “With your stupid boyfriend?”

“Stop calling him that.”

“Stupid?”

“Boyfriend,” Z glared at him. “No one uses words like that anymore except your antiquated books.”

“Well, if he’s not your boyfriend,” Blue tilted his head. “If you haven’t exchanged names. Doesn’t that make you single? By Surge standards?” He took one hand, slowly walking his fingers up Z’s chest and resting against his warm skin.

Z’s face stayed tight, hesitant. Not pushing Blue’s hand away this time. Throat bobbing as he swallowed. “What if it did?” he whispered.

Blue smiled. “Then,” he whispered. That hand at Z’s chest painting across his ribs, curling around the small of his back. “I would tell you to kiss me.”

“Like I said,” he huffed, pushing ever so gently against Blue’s chest. “Trouble.”

“You like trouble,” Blue said, pulling his body a little closer. “You wouldn’t have become a Surge if you didn’t.”

“It’s not about the trouble,” Z said, his arms sliding up around Blue’s neck. “It’s about Nova City being occupied by a corrupt power. It’s about the higher cause.”

Blue rested his hands against Z’s hips. “Well, my mouth is tragically _un_ occupied,” he pouted. “I think that’s a higher cause.”

And Z didn’t laugh, didn’t ready a comeback. He just stared down at Blue’s mouth with bleary eyes. And when he leaned in, it was so slow that it seemed like a tease. Like he’d pull away at any moment. Before he finally let their mouths meet.

Blue’s head swam with alcohol and nerves and other things too. His hands gripping tighter into Z’s hips, pinning him against the sink. Totally high on it. Wanting more.

But Z pulled away, just as fast as it began. He looked up into Blue’s face, his eyes rounder. His breaths shakier. Licking his lips like he was trying to savor his taste.

Blue stayed still, watching him, trying to will him to lean in again.

Z’s arms fell away as he slid out from under him, going for the door.

The panic leapt forward in Blue’s chest. “Where are you going?” he asked.

“Back to my boyfriend,” Z said, over his shoulder, eyes drawn away.

“Stop calling him that.”

And he could see Z’s smile in his profile, right before he disappeared back into the party.

As soon as he was gone, Blue’s chest collapsed, leaning both hands against the sink. He didn’t look in the mirror, not wanting to see his kiss-swollen mouth, his askew scarf. Not wanting to be reminded of what just happened, what wasn’t happening anymore. He splashed cool water on his face, trying to calm down. Sober up. Anything that would make his lungs stop heaving for breath.

When he finally calmed down, he ventured back into the party. Spotting Z sitting in Ars’ lap on the couch, whispering something into his ear that had the DJ smiling. And just the sight of it made his lips burn.

“Blue!” 

He turned, spotting King racing towards him.

“We need to go,” he said. Eyes wide and frantic.

“Why?” Blue asked. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t respond, just kept dragging Blue behind him as he moved towards the couch. “Z. Get up,” he said, kicking the couch and jolting the man’s shoulders.

Z and Ars’ looked up, both of them disgruntled by the intrusion.

“Crows,” King said, firmly. “Coming from the west.”

Z’s face fell. He scrambled to his feet. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” the android nodded. “I saw about two dozen cars on the horizon. Their headlights are off, but I could still spot them.”

“Two dozen?” his eyes widened. “That could-that could be a hundred of them. We aren’t ready for that. Not to mention nearly everyone here is either drunk or high or both.”

“You haven’t heard the worst part,” King said. “They aren’t just packing standard issue laser pistols. I’m talking long-range stuff as well.”

“Fuck,” Z groaned. He held himself firm for a moment, thinking. He pointed to Dandy who was currently asleep in an armchair. “Get him. Get Blue. And go to the car.”

“What are you doing to do?” Blue asked, leaning closer.

“I’m going to get everyone out of here,” he said. “Go.”

King picked Dandy up, throwing him over his shoulder in a move that would have looked comical to an unaware onlooker. “Come on, Blue,” he said, starting to make his way out of the party.

Blue followed, unable to draw his eyes away as he watched Z talk closely with Ars. The DJ ran off, while Z stood up on the coffee table in front of him. Moments later the music cut out, everyone immediately looking around.

Z held his hands up to his mouth, shouting over the crowd. “Crows are on the western horizon,” he yelled. “We need to get out of here.”

The partygoers' faces went wide with panic.

“There are too many of them to fight and they have long-range weapons,” he said. “We need everyone to drive east, north, south, wherever. Turn off your lights and stay off the roads. Just stick to the sand.”

“Where do we go?” someone from the crowd shouted.

“Wherever you can find a place to stay for the night. And when you get there, lay low. Don’t come out till morning,” he said. “Listen to the radio and we’ll give you a signal, okay?”

“Come on, Blue!” King grabbed his arm again. “We have to go.”

As Blue left the house, he heard the commotion inside, saw the people starting to flood out towards the cars. He watched as King put Dandy in the backseat. “I can sit with him,” he told King. “Just get the car ready.”

Blue watched from the car as Surge scattered like roaches, getting into their vehicles and speeding towards whichever direction they chose. It felt like hours before he finally caught sight of Z’s red hair, coming out of the house and pulling open the driver’s door. “Get out,” he told King.

“I’m driving,” King said, from behind the wheel.

“I can drive,” Z argued.

“No, you can’t,” he said. “We’re going to be driving dark and I’m the only one who can see. And I’m the sober one between the two of us.”

“You have to watch behind us,” Z argued. “Make sure no one is trailing us.”

“I can do both,” King said, pointing up to the rearview mirror.

Z’s shoulders fell with a sigh. “Fine,” he said, shutting the door and running around to the passenger side. “Go east. I think I have a place I know of.”

Blue slipped down in his seat as King started to drive away. Trying to calm the racing of his heart. Watching out the window as the Surge that were moving alongside them started to veer off into their own directions. Their dark cars fading away into the night. Hoping they would be okay.

\---

It felt like they were driving for hours. Miles and miles of endless darkness. Of rough desert roads. Before the car finally came to a stop. It was an abandoned motel. Most of the rooms not even habitable. Shattered windows and dilapidated mattresses. But even in the line up, they managed to find two rooms that were salvageable.

“I’ll go get the power up and running,” Z said. “Blue and I can take this one. King, you and Dandy can have the other. You are the only one who can lift him.”

“Okay,” King smiled at Blue through the darkness. “Have a good night, you two,” he winked.

Blue waited in the room, sitting on the edge of the bed as the lights flickered on around him.

Z came in, making sure the curtains were tightly closed.

“Why did you pick this place to stay?” Blue asked, eyes looking over the orange printed wallpaper and carpet. The matching bedspread. The ancient looking television.

“Why not?” Z shrugged. “We got everything we need here. And there is no one to charge you for the mini bar.” He opened up the cabinet, a few cans of citrus soda falling out. He rearranged them back in, cracking one open.

Blue’s eyes went to the other side of the cabinet, widening with a gasp. “Are those movies?” he said, getting up at grabbing at wide tapes with handwriting scrawled across the label. “Oh my god.”

Z side-eyed him. “What?” he said. “They are just some old tapes.”

“I’ve never seen one before,” Blue smiled. “I mean think about it. They are _stories._ Stories you can see.”

“Well,” Z shrugged, tapping a knuckle against the heavy television glass. “This thing is busted.” He went to lay down on the bed. “I used to have one as a kid, you know. Just like it.”

“Then, you know how to fix it,” Blue suggested.

Z laid back, staring up at the ceiling, “I’m half drunk, Blue.”

“Please,” Blue begged, standing over him. “I know you can.”

Z looked up at him, rolling his eyes. “Fine,” he groaned. “Let me go get my toolkit.”

When Z came back, he sat on the floor, unscrewing the back of the television open and starting to tinker with it. Moving wires around and testing different inputs or outputs. It took him a few minutes before the screen lit up, screen going fuzzy with static.

“There,” he said, piecing it back together. “Turn off the lights.”

Blue switched off the lamps until the only light in the room was emanating from the screen.

Z took the tape, pushing it into the slot and watching the screen shift into picture.

Blue watched from the edge of the bed as the movie played, evident that they were somewhere in the middle of the film. Two people on the screen were kissing. One man with a handlebar and big curly hair wore a milkman uniform, while the woman was wearing… Well, nothing. And as the camera panned down, you could see her round breasts bouncing as the milkman thrust into her. The sounds of her noisy moans emanating through the room.

Blue cocked his head, hissing through his teeth. “This isn’t exactly like what I pictured.”

Z looked to the screen. “Oh my god!” he screamed as exploded into laughter. He fell to the carpet, clutching his stomach tightly as he howled.

“Why are you laughing?” Blue asked, glaring down at him.

Z cracked up, fingers wiping the tears in his eyes. “It’s just people fucking!” he exclaimed. “You thought it would be some high art!”

“I mean who’s to say it can’t be both,” Blue argued. “Let’s start it from the beginning and give it a chance.”

When Z managed to stop laughing, he rewound the tape back to the start, taking a seat next to Blue on the edge of the bed.

The now fully dressed woman was cleaning her house when she got a knock at the door. “Coming!” she singsonged as she went to go answer it. 

The milkman stood on the other side, leaning into the doorway. A charming smirk across his face and a basket full of milk bottles in his hand. “Milk delivery.”

The woman gasped, a look of surprise in her doe eyes. “I’m sorry, Mr. Milkman,” she shook her head. “But my husband’s not home. And I’m afraid he took the checkbook with him.”

The man laughed, fingertips teasing at the end of his mustache. “That’s fine, my dear,” he smiled. “A beautiful woman like you? I’m sure you know exactly how you can get this milk.”

Blue watched as the scene divulged into what they had previously watched. Unable to keep from cringing at the menial excuse for a plot, the cheesy dialogue, the funk music playing in the background. The camera panned down to the milkman’s tanned chest, his gold jewelry jingling around his neck. His hips thrusting into the woman as he pushed her leg higher, making room for the camera to zoom in. 

“Wow,” Z noted, tilting his head. “She’s pretty flexible.”

“Did you have movies like this growing up?” Blue asked, half-joking.

Z huffed. “Not like this,” he said. “Old cartoons, shit like that. But my parents would have never let me watch something like this.”

“Are they still around?” Blue said, looking over at him. “Your parents?”

Z blinked, looking down into his soda can for a moment and taking a sip. “Yeah,” he said, sounding too serious now. “They are around.”

“Where do-”

“What about your parents?” Z cut him off, not looking over. Keeping his eyes focused on the screen.

Blue blinked, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t really know them.”

“You must have them.”

“I guess,” Blue shrugged. “My sister didn’t like talking about them. If I asked, she’d just change the subject.”

“You don’t remember them at all?” Z asked, finally looking over.

Blue met his eyes, seeing the technicolor bouncing off his face. “No,” he shook his head. “Not at all.”

Z looked at him for a moment, mouth opening like he might say something else. But he must have decided against it, because he just resealed his lips. Turning back towards the television.

Blue kept watching his profile. His dark eyes and the soft curve of his nose. His lower lip that looked so full. Briefly remembering how it had felt against his mouth. And just thinking about it again, he felt a brush of heat travel up into his face. He took a deep breath. “Z,” he spoke, quieter now. “Why did you kiss me? Back at the party?”

Z didn’t look over. Face blank for a moment before he raised his soda to his lips. “You told me to,” he said, downing the last of it. 

“I know I did,” Blue said, feeling slightly foolish. “It’s just. You hardly seem like someone who does as they’re told.”

Z went silent, still eying the television. “Cause I wanted to.”

And all those feelings in Blue that were already kicked up from the party started to burn through him. Feeling the subtle spin of his head, but not sure he could blame it on the alcohol anymore. Though he wished he could. Because this would have been so much easier with a few more drinks in his system. He held his breath, looking back at the television screen. “Do you still want to?” he asked, watching the milkman lay back onto the couch. The woman starting to ride in his lap. “Kiss me, that is?”

Z was silent again. For such a long moment that Blue wasn’t sure he’d get his answer. But then he stood up, walking over to the television and turning it off. 

The room went dark and Blue tried to adjust his eyes as Z came over. Feeling the man straddling his lap, knees on either side. His hands come up, tugging at the scarf around Blue’s neck. Unwrapping him like a present. Z leaned down, putting his lips against Blue’s neck. Kissing him there and making Blue swallow down the inaudible gasp in his throat.

Blue’s hands felt empty, so he let them push up Z’s thighs, curving around his waist. Feeling the man’s teeth at the skin. Making him shudder. “Is that a yes?” he whispered into the darkness.

Z pulled back, keeping his mouth close. Eyes skimming down Blue’s face. “Take off your shirt,” he breathed.

Blue held himself firm, trying not to react. Taking his fingers off of Z’s waist and letting them pull at the hem of his shirt, tossing it away.

Z’s eyes sank down his chest, lingering there as he took off his jacket. Pulling his tank off too. “Scooch back,” he said, softly, pushing at Blue’s chest as he stood up.

And Blue felt his warm fingers against his skin, making his heart race faster on command. He backpedaled up the bed, laying himself against the stiff, motel pillows.

Z stood at the edge of the bed, working open the buckle of his belt. And even in the dark, Blue could see the little scribblings of black tattoos against his arms and ribs. Making him draw in a breath.

Z crawled forward on the bed, pushing Blue’s legs open. “You’ve never done this before, have you?” he said, hand gripping his inner thigh.

Blue felt his body tense up, a straight line of sensation that went straight to his core. He licked his lips, “I’ve read about it.”

Z scoffed, just a teasing sound in his throat, “As if reading can teach you anything about fucking.” And his hand smoothed higher, pressing down between Blue’s legs.

He felt his hips thrust up into it without his consent, hissing through his teeth as he tried to keep his rushing mind quiet for just one moment. “We’ll see about that,” he said, reaching for Z’s sides and flipping him onto the bed.

Z seemed a bit surprised, looking up at Blue with wide eyes.

“Are you going to make me tell you again?” Blue asked, smirk drawing up on one side.

Z swallowed, eyes panning down his body. “Tell me what?”

Blue smirked even harder, “To kiss me.”

Z looked at him for a moment. He reached up, lacing a hand around Blue’s neck and dragging him down. Letting their lips meet with more force than before.

Blue’s mind spun in circles, like wheels burning out. He felt the delicious press of Z’s lips, making him go weak. Falling forward over him until their chests bumped together. The drag of their skin feeling just as good as the kiss.

Z bit down on his lip, making him gasp, before he licked into his mouth. Tongue carrying the taste of that citrus soda. And Blue couldn’t believe that he didn’t mind it anymore. In fact, Z’s chemistry made it taste so much better.

Blue’s hands felt up his sides, his pretty skin that stretched taut against his ribs, his smooth tattoos. And every inch of him was even better than the last. He let his hands run down into his lap, pressing up against the strained gray denim. Feeling the outline of him that made Blue just want to tear him apart.

He pulled away, looking down at him. “How do you like it?” he asked, hand gripping down on his clothed cock.

“Like what?” Z panted, fingers combing into the hair at Blue’s nape.

“To get fucked,” Blue said. “Tell me how you like it.” He pressed down firmer.

Z gritted his teeth together, hips thrusting up towards his hand. “It’s not a steak, Blue,” he said. “It’s sex.” 

Blue looked at him flatly. “I can stop,” he said, pulling his hand away.

“Don’t stop,” Z protested, pulling his hand back and thrusting into it. “Just,” he bit down on his lip. “Make me feel good,” he said, voice husky and raw. “And I’ll do the same for you. Okay?”

Blue looked down at him, feeling desire like a kick in the gut. “Okay,” he nodded. He kissed him again, tongue teasing at his teeth as he sat up on his knees. His hands starting to tug at Z’s hips, pulling down his jeans and boxers just enough to free his cock. He fisted his hand around it, hearing the moan Z gave into his mouth.

Z pulled away, looking up at him with heavy eyes. “Are you going to open me up?” he asked. “Or am I going to have to do it myself?”

Blue’s mind reeled with the sudden imagery of watching. But the thought of doing was even stronger. “Do you have-”

“Here,” Z said, hand delving into his boot and pulling out a small bottle.

Blue’s brows furrowed together, taking it in his hand. “Do you always carry this around?”

“I went to a party,” Z panted, pushing off the rest of his clothes. “I intended to get fucked tonight by someone.”

Blue helped him undress, letting it all fall to the floor. “I bet you’re glad it’s me,” he said. “And not that asshole-”

“Just get inside me, Blue,” Z huffed, unamused. 

He didn’t argue, leaning forward to kiss his mouth as he clumsily squeezed the lube onto his fingers. Dropping it somewhere in the sheets before his fingers guided towards Z’s entrance, swirling against him.

Z’s fingers tightened in his hair, kissing him even harder.

Blue sunk a finger into him, feeling him quiver. Working Z open with firm strokes as his other hand came up, fisting around the man’s cock. 

“Fuck,” Z groaned, hips kicking up into his hand. “Harder.”

And the harder Blue jerked him, the more he felt him loosen. Making room for another finger before sinking that one into him too.

Z moaned, pushing him down onto his fingers and hissing through his teeth.

“Is it okay?” Blue asked, pulling back to watch his face. “Am I hurting you?”

“Far from it,” Z said, eyes falling closed as he hissed again. “Just don’t stop.”

Blue smiled, feeling encouraged as he worked into him with one hand. The other one thumbing the tip of his leaking cock just to spread the precum down, easing the slide that much more.

“Blue,” he choked out, eyes looking up at him with firmly set determination. “I’m going to ride.”

He didn’t need any further convincing as he pulled his hands away, going to his own pants and hastily undoing them. Falling onto his back to push them off as fast as he could.

Z came up between his legs, eyes raking over him with a devious glint that shown in the darkness. Licking his lips as took the bottle of lube, drizzling it across Blue’s cock before taking it in his hand.

Blue squirmed at the feeling, too good to just stay still. He watched Z hover over him, fisting his hard cock.

“I can be pretty bossy,” Z smiled. “When I ride someone.”

Blue moaned, smiling through it. “Just when you ride?”

“Especially,” Z said, climbing over him.

“I can take it,” Blue gulped, feeling the slide of Z’s slick entrance against his cock. Shivering from the anticipation.

“I know you can,” Z smiled, sinking himself down onto Blue’s cock with a moan.

And Blue hadn’t ever pictured a person feeling so good. Because in every story, the words never amounted to this. Never compared to the look of Z as he began to move. The sheen of sweat percolating on his chest and the tightness of his shoulders. The way his mouth fell open just to moan as he swirled his hips against Blue.

“Harder,” he groaned, hand coming up to touch Blue’s face.

Blue pulled his hips up, trying to get them moving at the same pace of Z’s hips. Trying to meet him just to drive deeper into him.

“Fuck,” Z whimpered. “Take my fingers.”

Blue felt Z’s thumb hang on the corner of his open mouth, letting his tongue lick against it and watching the way it made Z’s brows push together, his mouth fall even more open. Feeling the way it made Z squeeze tight around him, making his hips jolt clumsily up into him again.

“Bite it,” Z commanded.

And Blue did, not hard enough to hurt him but just enough to feel the give of his skin. He ran his tongue over it again, watching the way Z’s muscles tightened. Feeling him tighten around his cock again, throbbing.

Z pulled his thumb away, replacing it with his mouth. Kissing Blue hard, nipping at his lips. “Touch me, Blue,” Z commanded. “Touch me good.”

Blue’s hand came up around his cock, jerking him just as hard as he knew Z wanted. And almost as soon as he did, he felt Z’s hands clutch around his jaw. Fingers shaky as they brushed against his skin. And God, it felt so good that Blue couldn’t help but feel his chest stir with a mixture of both pleasure and emotion.

Blue thrust into him even deeper, wrapping his other hand around Z’s waist to hold him down. Feeling the noises it punctuated from him as he kissed him. Blue getting lost in it more and more until he could feel the warmth pooling in his abdomen. And at first, he just thought it was own climax, hanging onto the edge for dear life, but as it dripped down his sides, he realized it was Z’s cum. So warm against his skin.

Blue couldn’t hold on anymore, hips messily thrusting as he came. Hands gripping into Z’s hips. Moaning through it as it spread to every corner of his body. Lightyears from every description he’d ever read, from every rushed handjob he’d given himself, not sure when his sister would be back.

Blue’s shoulders fell flat on the bed, eyes falling closed as he just tried to live in that sensation for as long as he could. Feeling it drain out of him too fast. Trying to chase it, but all he felt was the gentle rock of Z’s hips against him.

He looked up, seeing Z staring back at him. Eyes heavy and dark as he kept rocking down onto Blue’s softening cock.

And it made Blue’s whole body thrum with something totally different when he realized what Z was doing. That he wanted more. 

He kept their eyes locked as he brushed his hand over his own stomach, over the pool of Z’s cum. Reaching up to touch him again, jerking him slower this time.

Z trembled, hips moving with a little more force as he watched Blue.

He kept fisting Z’s cock, feeling how hard he still was, even from coming already. Feeling him throb in his hand again as he maintained his pace.

Z whimpered, hands gripping down on Blue’s chest. Voice coming out weak, “Harder.”

“No,” Blue shook his head, pushing himself up until he was sitting. Z still grinding down against him. “No, I’m going to make you savor this,” he whispered, eyes grazing down his features. “Savor what you just took from me. I’m going to make you wish it wouldn’t end.”

Z whined, face drawing closer as he kissed Blue again, wrapping his arms around his neck and holding him close. “Blue,” he breathed, kissing him again. “Don’t stop. Don’t-” but before he could get the words out, Blue felt him cum again down his fist. His hips finally coming to a stop.

Z sat in Blue’s lap, coming down. Steadying his breathing as he looked at him with round eyes.

“You got,” he swallowed. “All that from reading?”

Blue smiled, a laugh slipping free, “Are you impressed?”

Z smiled, looking like he was trying not to. “Those books are good for something, I guess,” he said, sitting back on the bed.

Blue got up, going to the bathroom and cleaning the mixture of himself and Z off his stomach, his hands. He looked up into the mirror, but it was too dark to see even his own reflection. He finished up, turning back towards the bed, but stopping in his tracks. Seeing Z tucked into the covers, staring back at him

“What?” he asked, feeling naked and exposed under his stare.

“Nothing,” Z said, sounding guilty. “I’m just… looking at you.”

Blue came closer, standing over the bed. “Are you still drunk?”

Z shook his head. 

Blue could see his eyes. They were dazed, glistening in the low light. “You’re tired.”

Z stared up at him. He nodded.

“Go to sleep, Z,” Blue smiled, crawling into the bed beside him. Turning himself away from him and relishing the feeling of a real bed. Knowing it had been too long.

But moments later, he felt an arm snake around his waist. A warm face nuzzling into his back. “What are you doing?” Blue asked, not turning around.

“I’m cold.”

“Then put your clothes back on.”

Z shook his head, dragging his cheek across Blue’s back. “I don’t want to.”

Blue felt the little kick of his heart. A smile warming his face. He reached up, covering Z’s hand with his own, lacing their fingers together and drawing it more tightly around him. Feeling the man’s body pull close along his back. “Then go to sleep, Z,” he whispered, still smiling when he fell asleep.

\---

“It’s okay,” King repeated, over and over again in his ear. “Shh. It’s okay.”

Blue was crying, shaking in the android’s arms. Feeling small and fragile as he clutched a book to his chest. He heard the screaming from the other room, a deafening argument. The words of it running together in his head, incomprehensible. It just kept going back and forth. A strong manly voice being countered by a woman’s. He held his hands up to his ears, trying to make the sound stop.

“It’s not okay,” Blue shook his head, sniffing up the excess tears. “They always do this. They always fight like this.”

“I know,” the android sighed, trying to smile, “They’ll stop soon. I promise.”

“And what if they don’t?” he asked, eyes welling up again. “What if they scream until they can’t breathe anymore? Until none of us can?”

“That won’t happen,” King smiled, forced. “I promise. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll keep you breathing.”

There was a crash of glass in the other room, so loud that it had Blue burying his head into King’s shoulder again. He cried, harder now. A mix of fear and sadness and anger that he couldn’t keep bottled in.

“Blue,” King said. “Wake up.” But his voice sounded different now. “Blue,” he said again.

Blue opened his eyes, looking over and seeing Z staring back at him. His eyes wide.

“What?” he breathed, noticing the race of his chest. “What’s wrong?”

Z studied his face. “You were breathing pretty hard there,” he said softly.

Blue blinked, sitting up and rubbing his face. “Sorry. Just,” he sighed. “Bad dream.”

Z sat up next to him, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Blue looked at him, seeing his rumbled hair. His concerned eyes. His bare chest. He looked away, towards the motel window. Seeing the sunlight poking through the cracks of the curtains “What time is it?” he asked.

“It’s morning,” Z said. “Do you wanna… I don’t know. Go outside. Shake it off.”

“The Crows though,” Blue looked back at him. “Shouldn’t we-”

“We’ll be armed,” Z said, getting up from the bed. “Come on. I saw a soda machine in the office.”

The sun was warm against Blue’s shoulders as he looked down the sight of Z’s gun. Lining up with the soda can that sat on the stump of a deadened Joshua tree. 

“Okay,” Z said from behind his shoulder. “Now, when you shoot,” he spoke, closely into his ear. “Don’t close your eyes, okay?”

“Why would I close my eyes?” Blue asked, tongue poking out of his mouth as he focused.

“Because,” he said, coming to stand next to him. Lifting another soda to his mouth. “It’s an instinct.” He tipped the can back, taking a carbonated slurp.

Blue’s eyes drifted over to Z, admiring the long line of his neck. He was wearing Blue’s shirt, the white sleeves pushed up past his elbows, his tartan boxers peeking out the bottom hem and his boots on his feet. And just seeing him like that made Blue feel that morning sun against his back burn a little hotter.

“Don’t look at me,” Z smiled. “Look at your damn target.”

“Sorry,” Blue blinked, squaring up again with the tin can.

“Okay,” Z said. “Your stance looks right. So when you’re ready, take a deep breath and fire.”

Blue inhaled deeply, feeling that dry desert air in his lungs. And as he exhaled, he pulled the trigger. The laser zapped from the end, knocking the empty can off the stump with a clank.

“I did it!” Blue cheered, holding the gun above his head. 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Z said, grabbing the gun from his hand. “Gimme that before you hurt yourself.”

“Are you going to finally let me have a gun now?” he asked, smiling wide.

“What? Because you shot a can?” Z huffed, flipping the safety and tucking it under his arm. “I think you’re going to have to prove yourself a bit more than that.”

“Just admit it,” Blue said, reaching out to circle his arms around Z’s waist.

“Admit what?”

“That you don’t want me to have a gun because you like protecting me,” Blue crinkled his nose with a laugh.

“You’re so dumb,” Z looked away, pressing against Blue’s chest. “Yes, that’s why I keep us down a shooter. Because I’m trying to show off.” He rolled his eyes.

“I knew it,” Blue said, squeezing him closer. Not letting him run away.

“Let me go,” Z whined. “I warn you I’m armed.”

“Not so fast,” Blue said, reaching up to Z’s cheek and pulling it towards him. Drawing him in and kissing him. And he felt the way Z went slack in his arms, not trying to push away anymore. Opening up the kiss and tasting the citrusy soda lingering on his tongue.

The walkie talkie in Blue’s belt loop started to speak. “Are you okay, Z?” Dandy said. “We heard gunfire.”

Blue pulled away, seeing the small smile on Z’s face as he reached for the walkie. “We’re fine,” Z said. “Just some target practice.”

“Well, SPRW gave the signal,” Dandy said. “We are free to keep going. Come back and we can talk before we head out.”

“Coming,” Z said. He leaned in, kissing Blue one more time. Before pulling out of his arms and walking away.

Blue stood there a moment, watching him walk back towards the motel. Wearing Blue’s shirt, a pistol under his arm. He felt his chest swell.

Z looked back over his shoulder. “You coming?” he asked, a soft smile on his face.

Blue smiled, chasing after him.

When they got back to the motel, King and Dandy were already dressed and ready, leaning on the car.

Dandy narrowed his eyes at them. “What are you two wearing?”

“Or not wearing?” King laughed.

“We just got up,” Blue shrugged, dismissing any further questions. “What’s the plan?”

“Well,” Z breathed. “I said what I said. We’ve had some time to think about it. Let’s vote.”

“Against looking for Lark children,” Dandy said. “I’m sorry. I still think you two need a bit of a reality check here. After the Crow attack last night? We could have had major casualties!”

“The sooner we locate the kids, the sooner we can understand how these Crows are moving and why they are coming after Surge,” King argued. “Until then, we are useless.” King raised his hand, “For.”

Their eyes went to Z. He looked slightly hesitant, eyes momentarily flicking over to Blue. “For.”

Dandy sighed. “I think it’s a mistake,” he shrugged. “But if it’s how you guys voted-”

“There’s one more vote we need,” Z interrupted, looking over. “What do you say, Baby Blue?”

Blue looked back at him, seeing the soft smile across his mouth. His red hair fluttering in the wind. He took a deep breath. “Let’s go find those kids.”


	5. "That Can't Be It"

Each day that went by was colder than the last. Yet, Mark’s subscriber count, his views, his bank account, were growing like well sown garden flowers that couldn’t feel the snap of winter chill at all. And though Mark had never cared much about numbers, even he could stand to admire the additional comma in his bank statement that hadn’t been there before. It was the comma he decided to blame for why he continued showing up to the office for filming. Because it was easier to blame a little black mark, than to have to think too much harder about it.

“Everything had to be character oriented,” Bambam said surely. His excitable charm shining with just as much brightness as his features. The wild streaks of color in his hair shimmering under the lights as he explained with his hands. “Every character has a personality that is expressed through the writing, but as the art team, it’s our job to bring them to life. So when you see each one of these characters, they have a color palette, accessories that show you their skills and talents, features that help define them. We wanted it to be clear from the first moment you saw Z that he was a rebel. Or that King is an android. Or that Ars is-”

“A pretentious asshole?” Mark offered.

Bambam smiled. “Yes,” he said. “And we hope that deepens the experience for the players.”

“Well,” Mark looked down into his cards, parsing through them again to see what he’d missed. “I think that’s all I have.”

The camera crew relaxed, starting to move about and chat. Mark got up as he adjusted his clothing. Today, he had carefully and politely declined what was offered to him in favor of his own clothes. Needing something to feel like home when everything else was so foreign.

“You were great,” Bambam offered. He raised an amused brow. “You sure you haven’t done this before?”

“Please,” Mark stopped him. “I’m literate at best. I think the last time I spoke publicly was at my sister’s wedding a few years ago and luckily, I was half drunk when I did.”

“That’s right,” Bambam nodded. “You have three siblings, right?”

Mark went still, looking back at him curiously, “How did you know that?”

Bambam’s smile staled, eyebrows flicking up like he didn’t quite hear him. “Oh, I think you mentioned it before. Anyway, I should get back to work,” he said, starting to make his way through the crew. “But I think Jinyoung wanted to see you in his office before you left.”

And any trace of suspicion gave way to sudden nerves that made Mark’s stomach churn. “For what?” he asked, trying not to sound too eager as he followed closely behind him. “No more surprises, I hope?”

“Maybe,” Bambam shrugged, holding the door open for him. “Maybe you’ll like this surprise.” 

And there was something in his smile that didn’t settle Mark’s uneasiness. If anything, he felt it just grow more all-encompassing. He shook his head, “I don’t know where his office is.” Like it was enough of an excuse to leave.

“Just at the end of this hall,” Bambam pointed. “You’ll see it.” He waved as he started walking the other way. “Take care, Mark.”

“Bye,” Mark said, sound dying in his throat as he looked down the hall. Anxiety extending the view, like a telescope, into an endless tunnel he’d never surface from. He took a deep breath before he started to walk, hearing the chatter of the conference room dwindling to quiet. At the end of the hall, Jinyoung’s name etched into the frosted glass of the door and Mark stood there for a long moment, trying to steady his thoughts, his knotted stomach. He tentatively knocked, hoping there would be no answer from the other side. Because maybe Jinyoung had stepped out. And Mark could go home and-

“Come in,” he heard.

“Shit,” Mark cursed under his breath.

When he opened the door, Jinyoung was sitting behind his desk, carefully looking over some papers in his hands. His gaze traveled upwards, losing any interest in whatever he was looking at.

Mark leaned in the doorway. Not wanting to come any closer. “You wanted to see me?”

Jinyoung stared at him for a moment. He took a deep breath, standing from his desk. He was wearing his office attire again, but it was considerably less stuffy now. No blazer over his white shirt, a few buttons undone, the cuffs folded up his forearms. “How did it go today?” he said, coming around to lean on the front of his desk, crossing his arms. 

“It was fine.”

“Just fine?”

Mark shrugged, “Bambam was great.”

“I’m sure he wasn’t the only one,” Jinyoung said. And though the words were nearly kind, his face didn’t show it. Staying cold and expressionless.

And Mark didn’t know what to do with that. With the heat trying to creep up into his ears at merely the suggestion of Jinyoung’s praise. Wondering why he was even caring about it. His eyes diverting down to the man’s chest, just to try and keep the attention off himself. “Rough day?”

“Why do you say that?”

Mark took a step closer, pointing to the red food stain on Jinyoung’s white shirt.

Jinyoung looked down, pulling at the shirt to study it. He sighed. “Forgive me,” he said, hands going up to the buttons and starting to undo them. Revealing a fitted white undershirt underneath. Not far off from the one he’d been wearing last time. “I haven’t been home since yesterday.”

Mark watched as Jinyoung’s buttons came apart, drawing in a breath. Trying to keep his eyes focused on his face. Trying to ground himself in the hint of stubble, the tinge of sleepiness under his eyes. All of it making Jinyoung look achingly human and flawed. Different from the polished surface he put on display.

“Why haven’t you been home?” Mark asked, trying to distract himself from the instinct to passively look down and watch him unbutton his shirt.

“Still work to be done,” Jinyoung shrugged it off, laying it over his desk. “Things to improve.”

“The game has been running fine for me.”

“Fine isn’t good enough,” he said. “We are imitating perfection.”

And at first, it didn’t make any sense at all to Mark. But then he thought about Jinyoung’s late father. The company that had fallen into his hands. And maybe that’s what he was referring to. The standard his father had set. And for a moment, he felt a pang of empathy thinking about that pressure on Jinyoung’s shoulders that he wasn’t sure he could live up to. 

Mark washed it away, refocusing. “You asked to see me?”

Jinyoung motioned to the chair in front of him, “Have a seat.”

Mark saw how close it was to Jinyoung. How he’d be forced to look up into the man’s face like he was something divine. And that desire to rebel against the very idea that Jinyoung was anything high or mighty had him standing his ground. “I’d rather not.”

Jinyoung huffed. “So eager to not be around me?” he asked with the smugness Mark had grown far too familiar with.

And he hated that impenetrable ego. How it got in the way of even the most meager attempts to humanize Jinyoung. “Well,” he sighed. “It’s just that every time I’m around you, I get roped into something else I don’t want to do.”

Jinyoung stared at him flatly. Not speaking, as if he too knew it was true. He turned back towards his desk, reaching over it to pull open a drawer.

And as he bent over the desk, Mark’s eyes flicked down his body, as if his instinct to stare couldn’t wait any longer. He took in the tight fit of his dress pants with a passing glance.

Jinyoung turned back, offering an envelope.

Mark didn’t take it at first, not even looking at it. “What is it?”

“It won’t open itself up.”

Mark held his stare, like it was some sort of competition. He snatched the envelope from his hands. He opened it up, pulling out a card. Eyes skimming the words. “It’s an invitation,” he murmured. “To the Korean Video Game Awards.”

Jinyoung sat on the edge of his desk, “Have you ever been?”

Mark raised a brow. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know,” he said. “The ceremony is for those who make games. Not those of us who play them.”

“Well,” Jinyoung said. “I guess someone made an exception.”

And it was only then that Mark really understood what he was hinting at. That the invitation he was holding in his hands wasn’t for Jinyoung, but for him. He stared at it with wider eyes. “Why me?” he asked.

The man shrugged, “Maybe they like what we are doing with the game.”

“We?” Mark looked at him. Not understanding how Jinyoung fit into this.

“I am invited as well.”

“Aren’t you always invited?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “You’re the CEO.”

“I am. In fact, I’m presenting this year,” he nodded. “But they must have sent our invitations to the company for a reason.”

Mark’s eyes refixed on the words. “I’m not ready for this,” he murmured, skimming over the fine print. “It’s a black tie event. I don’t have a tux.”

“I can help.”

Mark looked up at him, furrowing his brows. “You’re not buying me anything else.” 

He shook his head. “I won’t need to,” he said. “I’ll be getting ready the day of the ceremony. I’m sure my team will have _something_ that will fit you.”

Mark wanted to say no. Because the awards shouldn’t have been worth it if they had to be experienced at Jinyoung’s side. But even he knew that inviting a streamer to this award show was unprecedented. And he couldn’t deny that he wanted to see what the event was like. And why they would have specifically asked for him to come. 

Mark flipped the invitation between his fingers, thinking back to Jinyoung leaned over the desk and feeling sure that they would not fit into the same clothes. But he also knew that venturing out to buy his own tux, days before the event, was a lost cause. He sighed. “Fine,” he said, making it sound like a surrender. “I’ll come.”

\---

The bleach burned Mark’s scalp. Made it hard to think, hard to sit still. But at least it had been a distraction. Enough to not have to keep anticipating exactly what was happening as the hair stylist rolled out an additional cart. When she brushed on the cool dye over the pigmentless blonde, it soothed the sting the bleach had left behind. And by the time she walked away, leaving him to process, he knew it was too late now to change his mind. Avoiding his reflection in the mirror.

“Korean Video Game Awards,” Jackson said, paging through a tabloid magazine in the salon chair next to him. He had asked to tag along not out of need, but boredom. “Damn you, Tuanzy.”

“Jealous?” Mark said, refreshing his phone again. He had been passively checking his channel numbers and noticing how everything just kept going up everytime he refreshed the page.

“Hell yeah, I’m jealous,” Jackson sneered, slamming the magazine shut and tossing it onto the counter. “First, you get put into a video game. And now this?”

Mark sighed, phone dropping into his lap. “I’m _not_ in the game,” he said, firmly.

“Sure, whatever,” Jackson rolled his eyes. “How are you liking it anyway?” 

“The game?” Mark scratched at his head, drawing a dye-covered fingernail back. “It’s fine,” he said, wiping it onto the salon cape.

“I’ve been watching the streams.” 

“And?” he raised a brow. 

“I like it. And the story is getting interesting,” Jackson sat up, stretching out his back. “Well,” he huffed, looking over at him. “It's certainly getting spicy. I’m glad at least video game you is getting some action.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Aren’t you glad you had a desk in the way to hide any…” he motioned to his lap.

“Jackson,” Mark glared. “It’s a video game. Hold yourself together.” 

“I’m just saying,” his friend held up his hands, feigning innocence. “I’ve never seen a scene like _that_ in a video game. I mean, the way Blue had you coming not just once, but-” 

“Jackson!” Mark snapped. “Stop calling _him_ me. It’s not me.” 

“Which is exactly why you’re dying your hair red as we speak,” Jackson said, offering no sympathy in his stare.

Mark looked up into the mirror, catching his reflection. His hair was slicked back, bright red dye coating every strand. And even the sight of it had Mark feeling a little stir of nerves that wouldn’t settle. Especially everytime he thought about-

“He’s going to lose it when he sees you,” Jackson said.

Those nerves stirred a little more fervently. 

“Jump your bones probably,” Jackson continued. “Just like Z jumped Blue’s.” 

“Quit it,” Mark replied, while briefly replaying the scene in his mind. Remembering how he’d tried to keep his face flat while he watched, knowing he was live, but it had been so weird to see. This stylized version of himself, riding Blue’s lap. Even thinking about it now, stirred up something else alongside the nerves that he had to push down, repositioning himself in the salon chair.

Jackson narrowed his eyes, “As if that’s not _exactly_ why you’re dying it.” 

“I’m dying it because this whole Tuanzy Z thing doesn't seem to be going away any time soon.”

“I mean Z is the reason you were invited to the award show,” Jackson acknowledged. “With CEO Park,” he smiled, flirty lilt in his tone.

“You should hear him talk about this stupid game,” Mark scoffed. “Like the characters are real. He’s obsessed.”

Jackson leaned closer, smiling, “Maybe the game isn’t the only thing he’s obsessed with.”

Mark didn’t acknowledge him. Just thought back to the other day in the office when Jinyoung had deftly undone those buttons while keeping his eyes locked on Mark, when he had leaned over his desk. He felt his whole body tighten up on him. “God,” he winced. “He makes my skin crawl.” 

“Is that good or bad?”

Mark scowled at him. “How could it be good?” 

Jackson shrugged, “You tell me.”

Mark stared at him, not playing into whatever he was hinting at. “It’s bad,” he said firmly. 

Jackson leaned into the arm rest, chin in his hand. “Aren’t you just a little bit interested, Mark?” 

“What’s there to be interested in?” Mark shot him a look of disgust.

“I mean,” Jackson’s shoulders lifted, smiling. “He seems kind of mysterious, right?” 

“No,” Mark said. “He seems suspicious. Mysterious makes him sound charming.” 

Jackson raised a brow, “Are you not charmed?” 

“Hardly,” Mark was quick to answer. Picking up his phone from his lap to start scrolling through it again. Not even reading the numbers anymore.

“Well,” Jackson smirked. “Regardless, he seems to be trying very hard to charm you.” 

“Right,” Mark said, refreshing the page. “By exploiting me.” 

“Oh, shush. He hasn’t made you do anything against your will,” Jackson dismissed. “And from what it sounds like he’s eager to keep you around. Eager to please you. Ask you out. Even when you’re being a stubborn dickwad.”

“Jackson,” Mark groaned.

“What? It’s true.” 

Mark huffed, shaking his head. “He’s no different than Youngjae,” he said. “To Aura, I was just a means to a championship. And to Jinyoung, I’m a walking advertisement for his stupid game.”

“What do you mean?” Jackson’s eyes widened. “He’s totally different.”

Mark dropped his phone again. “How?”

“Youngjae lured you onto the team because he knew you were what they needed to win. He deceived you, used you for years.” 

“Thanks for the reminder, Jackson.”

“But Mr. Park,” Jackson smirked. “Has never for a moment made you lose sight of the game being what’s most important.”

Mark looked at him blankly, not catching on, “Your point?”

“He’s not trying to seduce you into a business deal. You’re already in one with him.” he shrugged. “So, maybe he’s just trying to seduce you. And if you were so keen to indulge him-”

“Jackson,” Mark warned.

“What?” he shrugged. “A handsome, wealthy, uptight man willing to give you everything? I would be having fun unraveling him.” 

Mark’s gaze defocused, sighing out a heavy breath, “Not as appealing when I don’t know what’s hidden underneath.”

“Only one way to find out,” Jackson singsonged.

And it had Mark unable to think of anything but the push and pull within himself. How he had been trying to firmly hold onto his initial assumptions of Jinyoung from the start. But every time he encountered him, he seemed to be giving Mark another reason to doubt that simplistic first impression. The one Jackson had twisted into some kind of logical reasoning to cut through all the inexplicable tension. Mark took a deep breath, shaking his head, “You know I don’t mix professional and personal anymore. Not after last time.”

“Hm,” Jackson hummed. “Sounds like you’re more curious than you’re letting on.”

Mark’s eyes looked back up into the mirror, seeing the bright red and feeling the sink of shame in the pit of his stomach. Having no proof to fight Jackson on that.

\---

After leaving the salon and parting ways with Jackson, Mark took the subway over to the hotel that was across the street from the theater the awards were being held at. And as he walked up to the hotel, he could spot the theater bustling with staff rolling in the last of the equipment to set up. When he ducked inside, the hotel lobby seemed to hold an unmistakable buzz that Mark felt as soon as he walked in. The nearly frantic energy of so many video game companies coalescing in one place for the night. People with notable companies emblazoned on their t-shirts and backpacks rushing about on cell phones, grabbing mass orders of coffee. Mark noting a few of his favorites among them.

He found the front desk, trying to grab the attention of the employee there. “Excuse me?” he said, approaching the counter. “I’m looking for the room number of Mr. Park Jinyoung.”

“Name?” said the man as he looked up with a blank expression. But as soon as his eyes met Mark’s, they went wide. “Oh,” he stood up a little straighter. “You’re Tuanzy.”

“Yeah,” Mark shrank away a bit, shy from not typically getting recognized. Especially these days.

The man stared at him, eyes unblinking with surprise. “I’ve been loving the streams,” he said suddenly.

Mark thinned his lips, nodding, “Thanks, man.”

“The hair,” he said, eyes going up to look at it. He gulped. “Really look like him.”

Mark felt the nervous flutter of his stomach at the idea. He leaned in closer, “What room is Mr. Park in again?”

“S-sorry,” the man stuttered out. He clicked around his computer. “Room 1939.”

“Thank you,” Mark smiled tightly, pushing away from the counter and making his way towards the elevators.

The ride up to the nineteenth floor was long. The reflective metal of the elevators mirroring Mark’s red hair. And his nerves bundled up tight inside him as he wondered for a moment if it had been a step too far. He combed through it with his fingers, anxiously fixing it.

When he reached the right floor, he looked around, following the signs and finding the room. Not remembering the last time he had stayed in such a nice hotel. He stood on the doorstep, hearing the indistinguishable chatter of a few people inside and feeling those nerves tighten up even more. He took a deep breath, letting it calm him down, before knocking on the door.

Jinyoung was the one to open it, standing in the doorway in a white dress shirt and navy blue dress pants and bare feet. Behind him, Mark took quick note of three or so people still conversing, but it was hard to even give his peripherals attention with Jinyoung’s brown eyes fixated on him. Or more specifically, his hair.

“Hey,” Mark said.

Jinyoung didn’t reply, he didn’t seem to be able to. Too wrapped up in staring.

Mark felt his shoulders tighten, feeling awkward under his gaze. “You okay?”

“Your hair,” Jinyoung murmured. “It’s…” but the words trailed off like he was distracted.

“Red?” Mark suggested. “I’m aware.”

Jinyoung shook his head, “You should have told me you were going to do it.”

“Why?” 

Jinyoung swallowed down whatever answer he may have had, leaving silence again.

“Is it what you pictured?”

“What?” Jinyoung blinked.

“When you designed him?” Mark clarified. “Is this what you pictured Z looking like?”

Jinyoung didn’t answer, didn’t draw his eyes away. “Why did you-”

But just then, a woman came up behind Jinyoung’s shoulder, pointing to Mark. “Is this him?” 

Jinyoung stopped. “Yes, it is,” he nodded. “Come in.”

Inside, the suite was bigger than Mark could have imagined. A living room with a seating area, a desk near the panoramic windows, a bedroom to the side. But the living room had been taken over by three staff who had garment racks along the windows, shoes laid out across the floor, hair tools on the desk.

“They have a few options for you,” Jinyoung said, over his shoulder as he led him to one of the racks. He pointed to the grouping of tuxedos lined up along a few hangers, “Take a look.”

Mark came up to them, reaching out to parse through them. Feeling the fine wool slip between his fingers, noting the designer labels. His eyes looked them over, noting the slim cuts. “These would have never fit you,” he murmured, looking over at him.

Jinyoung smirked, “Well, it’s a good thing then.” 

Mark tried to ignore Jinyoung’s tone, the nearly flirtatious lilt that accompanied his handsome smirk. 

“Maybe something simple,” Jinyoung suggested, eyes rising again to Mark’s hair. “The red is loud enough, don’t you agree?”

Mark parsed back to a black tux, white shirt layered underneath, nothing of intrigue other than the subtle addition of black silk lapels. And Mark would have maybe looked at it more if he hadn’t been so eager to just get the attention off himself. “It will do,” he grabbed the hanger, throwing it over his shoulder. “Where can I change?”

“The bedroom,” Jinyoung pointed. “And when you’re done, I’ll have my team do your hair.”

Mark sighed, “Is that really necessary? I just got it done.”

Jinyoung smiled, “Just let me take care of it.”

And Mark could sense his insistence, too familiar with it now, and he didn’t want to start the night off with petty bickering. Even if Jinyoung made it easy to get worked up over nothing. So he just took his tux, going into the next room to change. Surprised when every piece seemed to fit him impeccably, nearly tailor made. Checking himself in the bathroom mirror and noting how different it was from the casual clothes he always wore. Standing up a little straighter as he smoothed his hands over his chest.

When he came out, the hair stylist sat him down. And after he was done there, another staff fit him for a watch that Mark tried to push away. But she had insisted it was just a borrow, that a man couldn’t go to a black tie event without some kind of accessory on his wrist. And then another person asked him his shoe size, finding him a pair of beautiful Oxfords to slip into.

As the sun began to fade beyond the room’s windows, leaving the winter dusk in its wake, Mark felt overly aware of Jinyoung in his peripherals or in the reflection of the hotel mirror. Watching as he sat on the couch, a glass of wine poured out in front of him, typing in his phone like he was still preoccupied with work. And Mark saw him go through nearly two glasses before he was finally tying his shoes.

“Are you ready?” Jinyoung rose to his feet, slipping on his jacket.

“Yeah,” Mark sighed, allowing himself to admire his reflection for only a moment. “I think I am.”

“Then let’s head over,” Jinyoung said, looking at his watch. “The ceremony should be starting soon.”

Mark gave his thanks to the team as they were starting to clean up, throwing on his jacket and buttoning it closed as he followed Jinyoung out of the room.

“You seem to like it,” Jinyoung said as they rode the elevator back down to the lobby together.

“What part?” Mark asked, adjusting his cuffs in the reflection in the door.

“All of it,” Jinyoung replied. “Being taken care of. When you allow me to do it.”

And Mark thought back to Jackson’s words earlier. “I can take care of myself,” he said.

“Of course you can,” Jinyoung said. “But you could also-”

“Let you dress me and feed me like I’m some kind of doll?” he shot back, looking over.

Jinyoung looked away, like he was trying to quell rising anger. Speaking softer in the quiet of the elevator, “I’m just trying to show my appreciation.”

Mark felt a pang of guilt, dialing his attitude back down. “The tux is nice,” he admitted. “But I’m not letting you gift it to me.”

“Fair enough,” Jinyoung conceded. Doors opening as he smoothly navigated through the lobby, Mark in his shadow.

The lobby was just as busy as it had been when Mark arrived, but now, just like him, everyone was finely dressed. Languidly filtering out towards the theater across the street, holding their dresses to avoid the puddles of slush in the road or brushing off the falling snow on the shoulders of their jackets.

Inside the theater, the grand lobby was white washed walls decorated in garish details, smoky warm marble underfoot, three crystalled chandeliers lining the ceiling. The crowd felt overwhelming. Hundreds visiting around cocktail tables with drinks steadied in their hands. All of the opulence, the professionalism, the people reminding Mark that this wasn’t a place for him. That he’d somehow just lucked out in order to be here.

Jinyoung took them up a staircase, moving with all the practiced swiftness of someone who remembered the way. He brought them to a bar, looking over to Mark. “What do you want?” he said, over the noise.

Mark shook his head. “I don’t care.” Because he couldn’t even think with his eyes still panning over the rowdy crowd.

Jinyoung handed him a mixed drink that looked cloudy in the glass, holding another drink of his own.

“What is this?” Mark said, taking it.

“Whatever the signature cocktail is,” Jinyoung shrugged. “Come on. Let’s find a place to sip these.”

They ended up finding a table on the second floor that overlooked the crowd below. Mark’s eyes still swept over them as he took a sip of his drink. It tasted like fresh cut grass and vodka, but he still didn’t care. “When does everyone go into the ceremony?” he asked.

“They don’t.”

Mark looked up at Jinyoung across the table, narrowing his eyes, “What do you mean?”

“People who work in gaming don’t want to sit still,” he explained. “Getting them to watch a ceremony is impossible. So this is how it goes, the majority of people wait in the lobby, mingle, get wasted, hook up, and staff come grab them for awards.”

“It’s not an award show at all,” Mark scoffed. “It’s a goddamn senior prom.”

Jinyoung shrugged, “People in the industry don’t get to do this often.”

“Do what?”

“Socialize,” he said. “Be around people from other companies. Relax. Celebrate their achievements for a night instead of just going back into the endless cycle of making a game, fixing a game, maintaining a game, making another.”

Mark raised a brow, “You sound bitter.”

“I’m not,” he shook his head, glass perched at the edge of his mouth. “I’m just being realistic,” he said, sipping at his drink.

Mark leaned his elbows against the table, chin in his hand. “Would you have chosen to do this work if your father hadn’t founded the company?”

Jinyoung swallowed, wincing at whatever was in his glass. He smacked his lips, “Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

He looked away for a moment, thinking. “Probably not.”

“Why?”

Jinyoung took a deep breath. “I’m proud of everything my father accomplished,” he said firmly.

“But?” Mark leaned closer.

“It’s a hard job,” Jinyoung said, with uncharacteristic sincerity. “It’s an imperfect medium of storytelling. Especially when compared to something like novels, film. Because no matter how far along the technology comes, it can never truly mimic reality.”

“You’re right,” Mark rolled his eyes. “Your game will never be as good as when my friends and I mounted a rebellion against our dystopian city's government.”

Jinyoung stared him down, brows furrowing. “You’re being sarcastic.”

Mark sighed. “I’m saying that video games don’t need to be reality. They are bigger than reality,” he urged. “They are a means to escape it.”

“Maybe they don’t need to be reality, but they _should be_ rooted in it,” Jinyoung argued back, tone cutting through sharp. “They shouldn’t just cater to some immature, destructive fantasy.”

“You sound like one of those people who equates video games to homicidal teenagers.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jinyoung scoffed. “I’m just saying-”

“You’re just saying,” Mark snapped, getting heated under the collar of his shirt. “That you think you’re _so_ much better than everyone because your game isn’t about mowing down a bunch of people from behind an assault rifle.”

“If I had known you’d be impressed with so little, I would have saved the last four years of my life and made some cheap multiplayer shooter for you,” Jinyoung shook his head, taking a longer sip from his drink.

“God,” Mark sneered. “Just when I thought you were done aggravating me.”

“Drink down your cocktail,” he motioned. “Before you decide to splash it on my suit.”

Mark glared at him, reaching for his drink and swallowing that earthy concoction again. Not finding any pleasure in it. He spun his glass around against the tablecloth, watching it leave a circular wet imprint. “What does your game speak to anyway?” he shrugged. “What is the _higher_ message, as you put it?”

Jinyoung’s eyes caught the crystallized light of the chandeliers above, “You’ll have to finish it if you want to find out.”

Mark could only hold his eyes for a moment before the weight of them felt suffocating, forcing him to look away. “You’re impossible,” he murmured. “Just like your protagonist.”

“Which one?”

“Blue,” Mark said. “You’re just like him.”

“How so?”

“So smug. Trying to work people up just for the fun of it.”

“He’s only interested in working Z up,” Jinyoung smirked. “And for the record, Z didn’t seem that bothered. After all,” he leaned closer. “Z was the one to make all the first moves.”

Mark burned even hotter under his collar, happy Jinyoung couldn’t see it. “Only because Blue was annoying him.” 

Jinyoung laughed. “Is that what you think happened?”

And Mark thought back to the last stream, playing through the kiss in that bathroom. The subsequent evening at the motel. Trying to piece apart Z’s thinking during all of it. Because it hadn’t made much sense to him then and it wasn’t any clearer now. Especially with Jinyoung sitting across from him, riling him up in an all too familiar way. 

“Mr. Park.”

They both turned, seeing a woman in a fine gown next to the table. An ear piece secured to her ear and a clipboard in her hands. 

“Sorry for interrupting,” she smiled politely. “We need you on stage to present the next award.”

“Of course,” Jinyoung said, finishing the remnants of his drink. He looked to Mark, “Will you be okay without me?”

Mark shrugged, “Likely better off.”

Jinyoung gave one last little smirk before following the staff, disappearing into the crowd.

Mark turned back to watch the lobby below as kept sipping his drink. Watching everyone laughing and smiling as they chatted, like this was exactly the event they waited for all year. And Mark momentarily remembered what that was like. Not working at a game company. But having a team. A group to commiserate with about this shared interest. And Mark couldn’t say with full confidence that he missed it, not when his autonomy had become so much more valuable to him. But there was something to be said about fitting in as well. Especially in moments like this. He sighed, taking another sip and reaching the bottom of his glass.

“You look like you could use another drink.”

Mark looked up at a tall, broad man. Pretty black eyes and warm brown wavy hair. Well-fit black suit. Bright smile against his face. He had a drink in one hand and in the other, he was outstretching another drink towards Mark. Something red.

Mark raised an eyebrow, “How long have you been waiting to do that?”

The man’s smile fell, eyes widening. He pointed behind him, floundering for a response. “I was just coming back from the bar-”

“I’m kidding,” Mark said, taking the glass from him and sipping it. “Oh,” he perked up. “This is much better than whatever I had.”

The man smiled again, even bigger this time. “Glad I could help,” he said, leaning an elbow onto the table and getting more comfortable. “What’s your name?”

“Mark,” he said, offering his hand.

“I’m Suro. Nice to meet you,” he shook it. “Where are you from?”

“America.”

“No,” he laughed. “Like what company?”

“Oh,” Mark’s cheeks felt warmer as the embarrassment reached them. “Um. Higher. Kind of.”

“Wait,” Suro gasped, snapping his fingers. “I know where I recognize you!” 

Mark’s smile pulled up at the corners of his mouth, “You do?”

“You’re the Z guy!”

Mark’s smile faltered slightly.

Suro’s face changed, nearly wincing. “Wasn’t the answer you were hoping for, was it?”

“Not my first choice,” Mark admitted. “I would prefer Tuanzy.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, genuinely. “You just... really do look like him.”

“Mhmm, I’ve heard,” Mark took another sip of his drink.

“Everyone in the industry has been watching your streams.”

Mark licked the taste off his lips, furrowing his brows, “Seriously?”

Suro nodded, “We always look to see what Higher is doing.”

“Why’s that?”

He shrugged, “They are the gold standard for storytelling. No other Korean company comes close.”

Mark huffed, “And they certainly don’t let anyone forget it.”

Suro tilted his head, speaking a little softer, “You’re talking about Mr. Park.”

“You know him?”

“I see him around at these sorts of things,” Suro nodded. “Is he really as cold-blooded as he looks?”

“Twice as much actually,” Mark offered. “The company doesn't have to run the aircon when he’s in the office.”

The man laughed, handsome eyes crecenting in favor of his bright smile. “You’re funny, Tuanzy.”

Mark felt a pleasant little flutter in his stomach, teeth at the edge of his glass. “Am I?”

Suro’s smile went a little darker, voice dropping down quieter as he leaned in, “I don’t know how long you were expecting to stay-”

“Now that I’m here?” Mark smacked his lips. “Hopefully not much longer.”

“Not all you thought it would be?”

“Not at all,” Mark shook his head. “It’s no different than some dumb house party. Just with fancier clothes.”

“Well,” Suro bit down on his smile. “If you needed an excuse to leave, we could take these drinks back to your hotel room.”

Mark felt that warmth in his cheeks paint down his neck at the suggestion, feeling the alcohol dizzy his brain ever so slightly. He shook his head, “I don’t have a hotel room.”

Suro furrowed his brows, “You got an invitation, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Mark nodded, remembering holding it between his hands in Jinyoung’s office.

“Everyone who got invited got a room across the street.”

Mark stared up at him, eyes defocusing as he struggled to comprehend the man’s words. “What do you mean?”

“It’s no problem,” Suro shook his head. “We can go to mine.”

And Mark just kept staring at him, trying to piece it together. Why hadn’t Jinyoung told him that? Surely, Mark would have wanted to know it.

“You know what,” Mark said, putting his glass down and pushing it away. “I better stay a little bit longer,” he smiled. “But thank you. For the drink.”

Suro let out a little breath, smile going tight with disappointment. “Of course,” he nodded. “Great to meet you, Mark,” he said with a bow of his head, before he moved back towards the heart of the party.

Mark stood there longer, thinking for a long time. Trying to run through every possible scenario, but none of them seemed to fit. He raised his head as he saw Jinyoung approach the table again. “You’re back,” he acknowledged, feigning a lack of interest. “How was it?”

“I awarded best mobile game,” he said, another glass of something nearly finished in his hand. “I hadn’t even heard of any of the nominees.”

“Why is that not surprising?” Mark sighed.

“Were you okay without me?” Jinyoung smiled, nearly like it was sincere.

Mark bit into his lips, feeling the quickened pace of his heart thrumming in his ears. “Why didn't you offer me my own room?” he asked with no preamble.

“What?” Jinyoung’s expression fell, only reading as blank bewilderment. Eyes perhaps a little heavier than they’d been before, cloudy beyond his gaze.

“Everyone who got an invitation got a room across the street,” Mark said firmly. “Yet I wasn’t made aware of that.”

Jinyoung stared back at him for a long moment, pensive and quiet. He cleared his throat. “Come on,” he said. “I need another drink.”

“You already have one,” Mark said, beckoning to the glass in his hand.

Jinyoung downed the rest of it, setting it on the table. “Not anymore,” he said. “Follow me.” And before Mark could argue, Jinyoung was walking away.

Mark groaned, following his dark blue tux through the crowd to the bar.

“What do you want?” Jinyoung asked, passively.

“Answers,” Mark glared.

Jinyoung sighed. “Nothing for him,” he told the bartender. “A double for me.”

“Will you be drinking for the both of us then?” Mark asked, raising a sardonic brow. Mentally counting up the number of drinks Jinyoung had already had.

Jinyoung took his drink off the counter, starting to walk away again.

Mark chased after him, getting increasingly frustrated as he tried to smoothly navigate around the crowd, but it was difficult to do and he kept being just too many steps behind Jinyoung. He ran to catch up, reaching out and yanking his arm. Pulling him closer to speak into his ear. “Slow down,” he gritted out.

But Jinyoung didn’t respond, didn’t even look at him, as he removed Mark’s hand from his sleeve and held onto it, lacing their fingers together as he continued to move through the event.

And Mark would have pulled away if he hadn’t been caught so off-guard. Feeling how their fingers slotted together, how Jinyoung’s hand was so warm and soft. Totally unlike anything else about him. And dazed by the action, Mark didn’t quite know how to take his hand back. Letting Jinyoung drag him up two flights of stairs, to the upper balcony of the theater. Up there, it was quieter, less people milling about than the lower floors, though their voices could still be heard from the echo of the tall ceilings. The chandeliers’ crystal adornments quivering ever so slightly.

Jinyoung let Mark’s hand go, leaning up against the railing, looking down into the pit of people below.

Mark stood at his side, hand a little warmer now than it had been before. He watched the man’s profile, not able to read his blank expression. “Why did you bring us up here?”

Jinyoung took a gratuitous sip of his drink. “Just,” he seemed to struggle for words. “Quieter.”

Mark had nearly forgotten about the hotel rooms by then. Too much happening in Jinyoung’s glazed eyes, in his warm hand. But he tried to not let the opportunity run away from him this time. “Why didn’t you-”

“When you look at people like that,” Jinyoung interrupted, motioning to the crowd below. “What does it make you think of?”

Mark resealed his mouth, staring at that line of his profile again. He thought for a moment. “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Some place I don’t really want to be.”

“Really?” Jinyoung looked over. “Why?”

Mark looked at him, noting the way Jinyoung’s eyes were catching the chandeliers again. Even brighter this close to them. “I don’t really think of myself as a people person,” he admitted. “I don’t really shine in crowds like that.”

“Who’s to say?” Jinyoung smiled.

And it felt like some kind of suggestion, but Mark couldn’t pay it any mind. “I don’t feel my most comfortable in them,” he clarified.

Jinyoung’s bleary eyes washed over his features, sliding closer until they were shoulder to shoulder. He licked at the moist remnants of his drink on his lips. “Where do you feel your most comfortable?” he said softly.

Mark watched his tongue move, feeling that itch across his skin that he’d tried to explain to Jackson earlier. Still not sure if it was good or bad, but being more sure it was bad. Smelling the flavor of Jinyoung’s drink and not really minding it. “I think I’m still figuring that out.”

Jinyoung smiled, eyes going back down to those people below. “When I look at them,” he said. “It makes me think of a video game.”

Mark rested his forearms against the edge, watching with him, “Why’s that?”

“People aren’t too different from NPCs,” he said. “They have their lines that they repeat and their circles that they walk. The things that set them off, shut them down.”

Mark huffed. “And I thought I was cynical,” he said, looking over at him.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Jinyoung shook his head, smile showing through. “I’m just saying. It’s rare you come across someone who is different. Someone worthy of being a main character. A hero.” He looked to Mark.

“Well if the world is your video game, aren’t you just playing god?” he suggested. “Making heroes out of people, while condemning everyone else.”

Jinyoung laughed, “You’re missing the point, Mark.”

He looked at him, trying to catch onto what he was saying. “Tell me then,” he said. “What is the point?”

Jinyoung stared at him, chest going wide with a breath. Bringing his glass to his lips as he downed the rest of the drink in one go, wiping his mouth against the back of his hand. 

“Woah,” Mark’s eyes widened. “What’s the rush with the drinks?”

“You,” Jinyoung lamented, smacking his lips.

Mark scooched away from him, narrowing his eyes, “Am I really that unbearable?”

“No,” Jinyoung choked out. “I’m sorry. It’s just-”

“Mr. Park.”

They both looked back, seeing that same staff in her gown and her headset and her clipboard.

“There you are,” she panted, like she had just run up the stairs in her heels. “I’ve come to grab you.”

“For what?” Jinyoung asked. “I presented already.”

She shook her head, “It’s not to present.”

Jinyoung went still, staring at her. “God damn it,” he hissed.

“What?” Mark asked. “What is it?”

“I’m too drunk for this,” Jinyoung murmured.

“What’s going on?” Mark asked the staff member.

“Mr. Park won an award,” she smiled.

“His game isn’t even out,” Mark argued. “How could he win-”

“For Most Anticipated,” she said, checking her watch. “Now, if he could hurry-”

“Mark,” Jinyoung said. “Come with me.”

And he stared at him, not totally understanding. “Where?”

“To accept,” Jinyoung said, handing the empty glass to the staff member.

Mark’s mouth fell open, hesitating around the words. “I really shouldn’t,” he protested. “I don’t work for the company-”

“I want you up there with me,” Jinyoung said, warm brown eyes going insistent.

Mark fell silent, staring back at him. Not able to track how he had gotten here. How he went from a quiet, small time streamer to being invited to accept an award with the CEO of one of the country’s biggest companies. And in the span of just a few weeks.

“Please, hurry,” the woman urged as politely as she could. She spoke into her headset. “I have him. I am coming.”

Mark walked at Jinyoung’s side as they followed the woman, using staff only staircases and hallways to get closer towards the stage. Echoing across the concrete, they could hear the presenters reading out the nominees, little segments of each game’s musical score playing between titles.

Mark looked over at Jinyoung’s profile, catching just how focused he was on the path in front of him. “Thinking of a speech?” he asked, leaning a little closer.

Jinyoung released a shaky breath, “Something like that.”

And if anything, seeing a hint of Jinyoung faltering, being caught off guard, made him seem a little more human again. Making it easier to see past his flaws, his ego.

By the time they reached the side stage, the male presenter was reading off the teleprompter. “And the award for Most Anticipated game of the year goes to...” 

The female presenter at his side, opened the envelope. Leaning into the mic. “Higher Games. When the Dust Settles,” she smiled. “Accepting this award tonight is CEO and game director, Park Jinyoung.” She motioned to the side stage.

Jinyoung walked out onto the stage, taking the award from the presenter and going up to the mic, eyes still focused on the award in his hands.

Mark watched from the side, crossing his arms over his chest. Not sure why the sight of it had him filling with pride, a little smile upturning the corners of his mouth. Admiring from behind, the fit of Jinyoung’s suit. The confident stance he had when standing behind the mic. Like he had no issue setting the words straight in his head. Even through his drunkenness.

“Thank you,” Jinyoung said, pulling his eyes away from the award and sweeping over the sparse crowd as their applause died down. “As you know, we are nearly ready to release our newest game. It will be my first game as head of the company.” He took a breath. “That being said, I hadn’t expected to win my first award as game director tonight,” he smiled. 

Mark's smile widened, seeing just how hard this was hitting Jinyoung. His first award.

“While there are many people I could thank right now, I think that I will hold those celebrations until after the game is out. And hopefully, by this time next year, they will all be here with me to accept more of these,” Jinyoung held up the award. “I’m very proud of the work we’ve been able to complete. And I can’t wait for all of you to play it. Thank you.”

Jinyoung bowed to the crowd before coming off stage, falling into place at Mark’s side. His eyes still trained on the award in his hands, smile on his face filled with awe.

Mark watched him, mirroring that same smile. “Are you genuinely shocked?”

Jinyoung looked up, meeting his eyes. “I can’t tell,” he laughed.

And Mark couldn’t think of a time he had heard him laugh so genuinely, not at Mark’s expense. He passively thought that he would like to hear more of it, before sighing heavily, “Does this mean we have to go back to the party?”

“No,” Jinyoung shook his head. “It isn’t going to get better than this,” he held up the award. “Let’s just leave.”

“You can’t leave,” the staff member said firmly. “You have to do press.”

“Fine,” Jinyoung rolled his eyes. “Press. Then we can leave. Promise,” he smiled.

And Mark didn’t feel drunk, but he momentarily wondered if he was when it wasn’t Jinyoung’s praise making his ears feel hot, but just his handsome smile. The very opposite of infuriated with him for a brief moment of levity. “Okay,” he breathed.

The staff member walked them both down another hallway and Mark wondered if he should take Jinyoung’s hand again. But it hadn’t been offered this time and he couldn’t tell why that was suddenly leaving him distracted.

When they entered the next room, all Mark could see was flashing lights. Photographers snapping shots as journalists talked over one another, trying to get their questions in.

Jinyoung went up to the microphone, holding his award in his hands. “Um,” his eyes washed over the crowd. “Yes. You first, ma’am,” he said, pointing to a female journalist in the front row.

“Mr. Park,” she said, standing up with her notepad in hand. “You’ve won the coveted Most Anticipated game of the year award. Did you know that it’s accurately predicted five out of the past six Game of the Year rated titles?”

“I did not,” Jinyoung said. “But I hope we can live up to that and deliver the number six out of seven.” He pointed to a man towards the back, “You, sir.”

“Mr. Park. Can you confirm whether the game is ready to ship yet?”

“Not quite yet,” he shook his head. “We have a few more details we are nailing down in the coming weeks.”

Mark’s eyes went back to the man in the crowd, seeing his pencil lifted, mouth open.

“A-are you sure you’ll be able to make your release date with no issue?”

“I’m sure of it,” Jinyoung said firmly. “My employees know what is at stake. They know people don’t want to wait any longer to play. Thank you. Next, you.”

A female reporter stood up from the edge of the room, “First off, congratulations on the award.”

“Thank you,” he smiled.

“Does this game being your first title as CEO add a certain dimension of pressure?”

“Of course it does,” he nodded. “I have big shoes to fill, but luckily, I have an amazing team rallying behind my vision and I’m confident we will deliver.” 

“One more question,” the staff member behind him spoke up.

“One more question,” he repeated. “Yes, you.”

A man in the front row stood up, smirk wide across his face, “You brought popular streamer and former competitive pro, Tuanzy, as your date tonight. There’s been speculation by both fans and journalists that he is the muse behind your first title. Is this true?” 

Mark felt a bolt of nervous energy strike him, stomach twisting up into knots and any remnants of a smile gone. Trying to put all those words together in the same order in his head, to understand their deeper meanings, all of them. But it was too much to unpack in the sudden rush of adrenaline.

Jinyoung took an additional beat of silence to answer, like maybe it had been taken aback as well. He leaned in closer to the mic. “Good night, everyone,” he waved. “Drive safe.” And with that he turned, not raising his eyes to Mark as he kept going, back the way they had come.

Mark’s mind and feet started working in sync again as he quickened his pace to keep up, looking into Jinyoung’s face. “Date?” 

“That’s what you heard from that?” Jinyoung’s eyes stayed on the floor. “Plus one.” He turned to the staff member at their side. “How do we get out of here?” he asked.

“Next door, takes you to the street,” she pointed.

“Thank you,” he nodded, walking onward towards that door and pushing through it. Night had fallen outside, dark and frigid cold as Jinyoung speedily made his way across the street, back towards the hotel.

“I thought I’d been invited,” Mark called after him, nearly slipping in a puddle of slushy ice. His pant leg soaking in frigid water.

Jinyoung reached out, steadying him. “Falling for me?” he smirked, before skipping up the curb towards the lobby doors.

“Jinyoung,” Mark groaned, following him. 

“You _were_ invited,” the man said, pushing his way into the lobby.

Mark kept trailing behind him, trying to keep close enough to keep his voice low. “By who?” he hissed.

Jinyoung pushed the elevator button, eyes surveying for the open one before making his way towards it. “By me.”

“Jinyoung,” Mark felt the swell of anger frothing underneath. Chasing him into the elevator as the doors closed. Trying to catch his breath, “If I had known I was going as your date, I wouldn’t have accepted.” 

“Why not?” he finally looked over at him. Eyes round with a question.

“You’re my employer,” Mark furrowed his brows. “That’s highly unprofessional.” 

Jinyoung scoffed. “Is that really why you are mad?” he said, a smirk across his pretty mouth. “Because I think that’s hardly a good reason to ruin the night,” he held his award up between his hands.

But before Mark could conjure some sort of justification, the elevator doors opened and Jinyoung walked out. Mark struggled to keep up again, following him down the hallway and shaking off his damp pant leg as Jinyoung unlocked the door.

The hotel suite was dark and empty, only the light of the city skyline through the windows illuminating the space. Yet the remnants of the stylists were still there in the garment bags laid over the couch, the jewelry boxes on the desk, the blurry glaze of hairspray in the mirror.

Mark stood there, every muscle tensed, pulled too taut. Ready to snap. The loud chatter of the event still making his ears ring. A high pitched buzz that had that anger and confusion rising higher.

Jinyoung undid his bowtie, casting it toward the couch. Kicking off his shoes. Placing the award down on the desk.

Mark watched him. Hands fisting at his sides. He tried to speak, but his throat was making the words come out hoarse, nearly whispered. “I’m... just a publicity stunt to you.”

Jinyoung looked back at him. His expression blank. He shook his head, averting his eyes. “That’s not true,” he said, tone clipped, detached. Lacking any kind of empathy.

And all Mark could hear was his condescending tone, his dismissive expression. Reminding him again of just how narcissistic he was. How everything about him was beautiful and cruel, cold as ice. And it just made him burn hotter. “Then explain to me why you keep dragging me around,” he bit out. “Why you keep signing me up for things I didn’t ask to be a part of. Why you wanted me on your arm for an event like this.” He shook his head, “You’re using me.” 

“No,” Jinyoung shrugged off his blazer, laying it on the desk chair. “That’s not it.” 

Mark kept watching him, standing his ground. “Then what is it, Jinyoung?”

His eyes finally raised his eyes to him. His bare feet taking slow, sure steps forward until he was nearly nose to nose with Mark. One corner of his mouth pulled up into a smug smirk, glinting eyes glazing over his features. “Why’d you dye your hair?”

Mark glared at him, feeling how close he was. Unwilling to back down despite the urge to shrink away to nothing under his persistent eyes, his commanding presence. His brows furrowed together. “Cause I wanted to.”

Jinyoung’s smirk pulled up higher, a pompous little huff of laughter sneaking through. 

Mark’s jaw went tight. “What?” 

Jinyoung shrugged, “You want to be him.” 

“Who?” 

“Z,” he smiled. “You hate it, but you want to be him so badly.” 

And Mark wanted to punch that smug grin off his face more than anything. But he knew it wouldn’t get him answers. “Why would I want that?”

“So, you can have someone like Blue,” Jinyoung reached out, fingers grazing over Mark’s bowtie. Setting it straight and brushing against his chest. “Someone who thinks the absolute world of you.”

Mark grabbed his hand, ripping it away and clutching tightly. “I’m _not_ him,” he said firmly.

Jinyoung smiled again, brown eyes gleaming in the low light. “You’re right,” he whispered, he pulled Mark’s hand closer, making his fingertips brush up against the buttons of his shirt. “Z is brave. Z makes the first move.” He titled his head. “But what about our little Tuanzy? Does he have it in him?”

And Mark didn’t think he could tighten any more. Crushing Jinyoung’s hand though he didn’t seem to mind. Ears still ringing. Persistent fucking noise in his head that wouldn’t go away. Persistent fucking man who wouldn’t leave him alone. “God,” he hissed through his teeth. “You’re so goddamn-” 

“I’m so what?” Jinyoung laughed, drawing Mark’s fingers up to his mouth. Dragging them against his lips, murmuring into them, “Tell me, Z.”

He held his breath tight in his chest. Whatever he was going to say dying on his tongue. “Drunk,” he exhaled.

Jinyoung laughed, weaving even closer. “I couldn’t help it,” he smiled. “You were driving me crazy all night.” He reached up, fingers combing the hair above Mark’s ear. “This color on you. God, you were born for it, weren’t you?”

And Mark couldn’t help the way even the slightest touch, the smallest praise made a chill run down his spine, his insides pulling like taffy. “I should go,” he said, telling himself more than anything.

“I don’t want you to,” Jinyoung half-whined, lower lip going fuller in a small little pout.

Mark swallowed, head dizzy with a million thoughts. He licked his lips, eyes ghosting over Jinyoung’s face. “What do you want?”

“You know,” Jinyoung whispered, his gaze so defocused, hazy, settling onto Mark’s mouth. “You must know.”

Every breath hurt, like Mark lungs were being compressed by the weight on his chest. His head swirling with a million different outcomes, playing each of them out. How to walk out. How to leave this room and not come back. Because nothing about this, the darkened hotel room, the little drunken murmured taunts, the closeness of where they stood, none of this was safe. But it was that mesmerizing allure of something dangerous, unstable, that had pulled Mark into this mess, that had him still distressingly in need of answers. Even if those answers were how good Jinyoung’s mouth might feel on his.

If it was worth anything, he was the first to lean in. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was playing into Jinyoung’s fantasy, the prophecy that he was so eager to fulfill. But he was also realizing that in the moment, the line between Jinyoung’s fantasy and his own was getting narrower and narrower. Not much different than the space between their mouths. 

Mark tilted his face, feeling the body heat emanating off Jinyoung’s skin like it was sun-warmed sand. He held his breath, feeling every frantic thought go quiet. Still. And in the silence, he fit his lips over Jinyoung’s. No more pout to kiss at. No. If anything, there was a hint of a smile in it.

Mark pulled away, blinking his eyes open and confirming exactly what he felt. Jinyoung’s eyes glimmered back at him, like flecks of moonlight shimmering on blackened ocean waves. Haughty little smile blooming even wider. Mark didn’t reflect it, face staying cold. Expressionless. “There,” he said, detached. “You got it.” He took a step back. “So good night.” He turned, crossing towards the hotel door.

But before he could get there, Jinyoung was chasing after him, slipping into the space between him and the door.

Mark sighed, getting frustrated, “Jinyoung-”

“I want more,” he said, hands coming up Mark’s chest, tugging on his lapels to pull him closer. “I want you.”

“No shit,” Mark bit out, full of disgust.

But Jinyoung just laughed, precarious little giggle that made the whiskers near his eyes deepen.

Mark glared at him. “What?” he said, exasperated.

Jinyoung bit down on his lip, eyes going down towards Mark’s chest. Fingers slipping into his jacket. Brushing up against his waist, his sides. Handling him so gently, so sensually. Looking back up at him with something more wicked in his eyes. “I think you want it too,” he whispered.

Mark went silent. Something thick in his throat that he couldn’t swallow down. Analytical gaze tracing down Jinyoung’s features, trying to pull apart everything about him. But the suggestive tone, the smoldering charisma, it was all so loud, so bright. Making it impossible to see further. He shook his head, “Want isn’t the right word.”

“Curious?” Jinyoung said, eyes brightening.

Mark stared at him. “Maybe.”

Jinyoung smiled, eyes crescenting and white teeth beaming through the dark. “I can work with curious,” he said, the hands at Mark’s sides sliding against his ribs.

Mark shivered, shoulders going tight to try and quell it. Not wanting to give Jinyoung’s ego the satisfaction of feeling it. Mark took a deep breath, reaching for the handle of the door. But his hand didn’t make it there. Instead it pressed flat against the wall near Jinyoung’s head as Mark leaned in again. 

And as he met Jinyoung’s mouth for the second time, he felt the man’s hands against his sides. He felt those gentle touches going firmer, greedy, as his fingers slipped around Mark’s waist, drawing him in closer.

Mark just gave into the shift, letting his teeth graze Jinyoung’s lip until he could feel the shuddering breath in his chest. Licking into it and tasting that superficial flavor of alcohol. That deeper taste of something else. Tongue trying to draw it out of him, wondering if it was the secrets he kept hiding behind his handsome smile. Pushing further and further until Jinyoung was whimpering, desperate little noise in his mouth.

It dripped through Mark’s veins, molten hot as gravity dragged it outwards towards his limbs. Down his arms, his hands coming up around Jinyoung’s face, gripping around his jaw as he kissed him. Feeling as Jinyoung’s hands curved around his ass, pulling their hips together. Brushing up against the suggestive line of the man’s dress pants that had Mark’s hands gripping tighter. 

Maybe latently, he realized it had been awhile. Months since the break up. And he could feel those pathways in his nerves flickering awake, back to life. But he knew his self-discipline, his restraint, was greater than just his body. Afterall, he’d had months to refine it. To tell himself that he’d moved past giving love to men who only had pride to offer in return. So he pulled his mouth away. Meeting Jinyoung’s eyes. Expecting to see the drunken, outrageous confidence, but seeing something completely different instead. The question, the anticipation.

Mark’s hands fell away. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he told himself that it was enough. That there was no need to take this any further. No more good could come from chasing dangerous curiosities like these. So he didn’t understand why he turned. Why he didn’t say a word as he walked to the bedroom. Why he took a seat on the edge of the bed, looking up and seeing Jinyoung standing in the living room. That confident smirk spreading across his face.

As Jinyoung came closer, Mark felt a chill run down his spine. Watching as the man’s fingers slowly reached up, working the buttons of his shirt open. No undershirt there this time as it only exposed more and more of the firm chest that lie beneath. Mark swallowed. Not knowing how to feel. Because it felt wrong, but he didn’t know how to pull himself out. He felt paralyzed. Trapped up in a cutscene that he couldn’t skip. Forced to watch. And in the moment, he hated how inevitable it all felt. How even without realizing it, everything had been building to this. Building to this willing sacrifice at the shrine of Jinyoung’s own arrogance. This voluntary self-destruction that had Mark feeling like he was falling to his knees.

When Jinyoung pulled his shirt off, Mark didn’t even try to be subtle with how his eyes roamed over him. Because there was nothing subtle about what was happening. And when Jinyoung came forward, sitting himself into Mark’s lap and starting to tug at the buttons of his shirt, Mark just let him. Because the inevitability overshadowed any amount of agency Mark was ever fooled into thinking he ever had.

And as Jinyoung’s fingers worked, Mark looked up, meeting his eyes before kissing him again. Slow, yet firm. And when all of those buttons were open wide, Jinyoung pulled away, eyes raking over Mark with the utmost attention. Like he was taking in every single little detail. Trailing a single finger down his chest, feeling over the mole at the center. Eyes intently focused on it, before he started to guide his hands around Mark’s chest. Like he was trying to memorize the exact curve.

“God,” Jinyoung whispered. “You’re breathtaking.”

Mark felt himself sink a little deeper into those sheets from the unfamiliar praise. Feeling it infect him with a feverish heat that wouldn’t settle. The reality biting back a bit faster when Mark had to tell himself that even the praise wasn’t anything more than it was. A means to an end, a persuasive angle to wear him down right to this very moment. Because Mark wasn’t the main character, he was just another NPC that Jinyoung was playing god with.

Mark sighed, full of disgust. “And you’re desperate.”

Jinyoung looked up at him, glimmering eyes holding his disgust like it was funny to him. “And?” he said, drawing Mark’s face in again. 

Mark’s hands passively felt at his thighs, muscled and tight under his dress pants. “And we shouldn’t do this.”

Jinyoung shook his head, “Stop punishing yourself for wanting it.” 

Mark swallowed. “I’m trying to protect myself,” he said, perhaps too honest in the moment.

“From what?” Jinyoung asked, looking sincerely interested.

Mark didn’t say it, but he thought it. He was trying to protect himself from getting wrapped up in something again, in someone who couldn’t offer him anything substantial. Having promised himself before moving back to Seoul that he would never surrender his own autonomy in the hope of keeping someone around ever again. That he’d never hold onto something for so long that it blows like dust from between his fists, leaving him empty. 

Jinyoung’s eyes studied him, closely. “Give me tonight,” he whispered. “And tomorrow, you don’t have to give me anything else.”

And Mark knew that was his downfall. The way Jinyoung always made everything seem so simple. Giving straightforward commands alongside just the right amount of pressure to break his strong will. Because in the moment, Mark could fool himself into thinking it too. Thinking that he could do this tonight and walk away from it tomorrow. And it was shortsighted, but it was so much easier than having to think any deeper about it.

Mark kissed him again, hands dragging up his sides to feel at his warm skin. Dragging him down over him as he laid back on the bed. Feeling as Jinyoung pushed at his jacket, his shirt, trying to get them off of him. Shrugging them off just to keep kissing him. That flavor of alcohol in the man’s mouth getting weaker as he diluted it.

Jinyoung’s hips grinded down in Mark’s lap, whining into his mouth as he did it. His hands insistently trying to pull at the nape of his neck harder, greedier just to kiss him deeper. As if he had something to prove. Adding more everything. More tongue, more teeth, more friction. And it should have maybe felt clumsy or messy, but it didn’t. Anticipating Mark’s movements as if they had kissed a million times before.

And it was overwhelming for Mark to be thrown into it, body trying to keep up as those same pathways traced over themselves with new, fresh memories. Veins full of fire as they dragged all that blood away from his head. Feeling the endless overanalyzing going quieter and quieter as the chaotic thrum of his body got louder.

Jinyoung’s hands painted down him, settling onto the clasp of his pants and immediately undoing it between his fingers, hand delving in to feel against his hardening cock. Brushing knuckles up against it, before wrapping his fingers around him. Giving him a gentle stroke as his mouth slipped down to his neck, teeth grating against the skin there.

And Mark had truly forgotten how that all felt, hips chasing the feeling of Jinyoung’s hand as he struggled for a breath, gasping under the grit of the man’s teeth.

Jinyoung smiled into his neck, twisting his hand around him. Working him up like he knew exactly how, just as persistent and aimed as he was in the way he spoke. He pulled his face away, leaning on one hand to watch Mark’s expression as his hand slowed to nothing. Just letting Mark throb between his fingers.

Mark felt the escalation of his heart die down, still stirred up with no release. He glared up at him. “I don’t like to be teased,” he panted.

Jinyoung’s cocky smirk staled, eyes going nervous as he bit down on his lips. “But what if I do?” 

Mark stared at him for a moment, not sure if he was serious. But the more silence that stretched out, the more he realized he was. He leaned up tentatively, putting their lips together again as he pushed him onto his back. He kissed him as he fumbled to push his own pants off, kicking them off the edge of the bed. “Keep going,” he commanded into Jinyoung’s mouth, grabbing his hand and putting it back on his cock. “I tell you if you can stop.”

He felt the small little shiver of Jinyoung’s body as he began to stroke him again, other hand holding his face close as he kissed him. 

And Mark’s heart rate picked right back up where it left off, shuddering around Jinyoung’s hand as he felt him pick up speed. Feeling the slow little drip of precum starting to dot Jinyoung’s stomach.

Jinyoung didn’t stop, doing just as he was told, but despite that, Mark could feel the needy little push of the man’s hips up into him. Hear the petulant little whimpers from his mouth.

Mark pulled away, looking down at his face and seeing the shine of his round eyes, the pout of his kiss swollen lips. He smiled, “You want something?”

Jinyoung gulped. He nodded.

“Well, then,” Mark hummed. “That hand better work harder.”

Jinyoung whined, eyebrows darting together as he squeezed harder around Mark’s cock, jerking him with new found fervor. His other hand snaking around the back, gripping into his ass before his fingers slid in to press against his entrance.

Mark hissed, leaning back into Jinyoung’s touch. Sensation running through him, making everything go tighter. He watched Jinyoung suck his fingertips into his mouth before returning them to encircle his hole, leaving a slick wet trail in their wake.

He moaned, eyes snapping closed for a moment as his hips started to thrust up into Jinyoung’s hand, unable to keep his patience tampered when it felt so overwhelmingly good. 

“That’s it,” Jinyoung whispered. Eyes trained on Mark’s face. “I got you.”

And Mark couldn’t even compute how soft and sweet his gentle urgings sounded, his eyes looked alongside the fierceness of everything physical that was happening. And perhaps it was the contrast between the two extremes that really set him off, made him give in and tighten up from his toes to his brows. Knuckles going white in the sheets as he spilled over the man’s abs, gritting his moan between his teeth.

Mark breathed, opening his eyes and looking down at Jinyoung’s face. He was staring up with round, glossy eyes, mouth hanging open as his hips still kept rocking up into Mark. Uselessly trying to get any bit of friction he could in his dress pants.

Mark’s heart pulsed in his ears, eyes combing down the man’s body. “What do you think?” he breathed, sitting himself down harder in Jinyoung’s lap, twisting his ass against the man’s hard cock. “Should I make you get off like this in your designer dress pants?”

“Fuck, Em,” Jinyoung groaned, hands gripping a little firmer into Mark’s hips. Holding him there as he kept trying to rut into him.

“Who’s Em?” Mark asked, furrowing his brows.

Jinyoung’s face went softer for a moment, eyes nervous again. “You are,” he breathed. “M for Mark.”

Mark tilted his head, staring at him suspiciously, “Not Z?”

“No,” Jinyoung smiled, shaking his head. “Em.”

Mark felt a stripe of warmth paint down the back of his neck, totally unrelated to the sex. He took a deep breath. “Take those off,” he said, climbing off of him and laying down on the bed.

Jinyoung didn’t need to be told twice, hastening to undo the pants and push them off.

Mark watched him undress, watched his hard cock reveal itself. His body having its own reaction at the sight, while his mind had immediate thoughts for where it should go. “Where’s your-”

“Here,” Jinyoung said, reaching into a bag of his things near the bed and pulling out a bottle of lube.

“I don’t care if you’re eager,” Mark said, sharply. “Don’t be lazy about it.”

“I won’t,” Jinyoung smiled, crawling towards him again. Sitting himself between Mark’s legs as he slicked his fingers. He reached them down, touching at Mark’s entrance again.

And Mark felt a sensitive little jolt from it, knees pulling back just to expose more of himself.

Jinyoung kept going, eyes trained on his hand as his fingers sunk into him, much deeper than before. The slightest little sting that Mark only felt for a moment, before every other little pleasant sensation overpowered it. Even his cock that laid tired against his stomach seeming to wake itself up, filling out again as Jinyoung worked into him with careful diligence.

“How’s that?” he asked, curling his fingers up into him.

And Mark’s eyes fluttered shut, relishing the way he seemed to just fall open as if Jinyoung was a welcome guest he hadn’t known he’d been expecting. “It’s-” he gasped. “You’re good. You’re good.”

Jinyoung pulled out of him, sitting on his feet as he coated himself in lube. He reached for Mark’s hips, pulling him onto top of his knees until Mark’s hips were slightly elevated, back arched up off the bed. 

When Jinyoung sunk into him, Mark was shocked at how full he felt. The angle of his hips pushed up making his cock hit inside of him just right. Sending a dull pleasure up into his head. And as Jinyoung started to move, sliding into him with long, languid strokes, that dull touch of him inside built, Mark’s body curving around it.

Jinyoung leaned forward again, drawing their lips together, and Mark couldn’t help but bite down, groan, cause it felt so stupidly good. Wondering if sex had always been this good and if so, why he’d allowed himself to abstain for more months than he was willing to admit.

Jinyoung licked into his mouth, breathing hard as his hips got more fervent. Getting lost in it, whimpering again like he was trying to hold on. “Em,” he moaned. “I-I, fuck.”

And Mark’s hand came up under his chin, forcing their eyes to meet. “You let Z come twice on Blue’s cock,” he breathed. “What about me?” 

“Fuck, Em.” Jinyoung choked out, hand reaching down to stroke Mark’s hard cock again. Thrusting into him at such an angle that Mark didn’t even need to do anything to have his cock sliding between Jinyoung’s fist again, just as good as the last time.

And that dull sensation in Mark’s head kept building, paired with the more immediate feeling of Jinyoung’s hand working against him. The sight of Jinyoung over him, all muscled and handsome like Mark hadn’t been willing to admit from the start. Eager and frustrated and falling apart from just the feeling of Mark’s body. And it made him feel so powerful as he kissed him again and again. Hearing the distressed little breaths in his throat go higher, winding Mark up just as much. Feeling himself go higher and higher until he was spilling across Jinyoung’s hand, his own stomach for a second time.

“Oh god,” he shuddered, squirming in Jinyoung’s arms as the man held him tighter, thrust into him harder. Hammering into him until he was burying his face into Mark’s neck to muffle his moan.

Mark felt it tickle his sensitive skin. His hand going up to the back of Jinyoung’s neck, squeezing against his spine as he worked through it. As his hips stifled to a stop, his breaths against Mark’s collarbones came out harsh. 

Jinyoung’s breaths evened out until he mustered enough energy to push himself up, hovering above Mark and meeting his eyes. But as he looked down at him, there was something loud there. Reflecting through the darkened hotel room. Something he wasn’t voicing. He looked bothered, distracted.

“What’s wrong?” Mark asked.

“Nothing,” Jinyoung shook his head, not meeting his eyes. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Do you want me to go?” Mark said, not sure he would like the answer. 

“No,” Jinyoung said, leaning down, kissing over his chest. 

Mark looked down at him, “Why not?” 

“It’s late,” Jinyoung said, not looking at him. “The last train is long gone.” 

“I can take a taxi.” 

Jinyoung shook his head, “Too expensive.” 

“Then, I’ll walk.” 

“It’s too cold,” Jinyoung said, kissing into his neck. “Too far.” 

Mark pushed against his chest, looking into his eyes, “How would you know how far it is?” 

Jinyoung looked at him, hard to read. “Mark.”

“What?” 

Jinyoung kept watching him, eyes so round and soft. “I would like for you to stay,” he said. And it sounded like a confession. Like it took considerable effort. It was vulnerable, weak. Unlike him. 

Mark watched his face, trying to piece it apart. Wondering exactly how many layers he had to shred through to get here. To this soft spot between the scales of his armor. Before waving the thought away, dismissing it as post-climax nonsense. Deciding not to push the issue anymore. “Okay,” he nodded. “I’ll stay.”

Jinyoung’s whole face bloomed with a soft smile that couldn’t be mistaken in the dark. So close and sincere that it had Mark’s chest breathing deeper as Jinyoung leaned down to leave a chaste kiss against his lips, to settle beside him. He laced an arm around Mark’s waist, pulling him in so close that he could feel the man’s breath against his bare shoulder.

And Mark couldn’t stop himself from feeling warm all over. In the city skyline out the window, he watched the gently falling snow. But now, the season outside seemed insignificant. As if he’d never even heard of winter before.

\---

When Mark woke up the next day, the room was still dark. The curtains pulled tightly closed, though Mark hadn’t remembered them being that way when he’d fallen asleep the night before. He laid there for a moment, rolling onto his back and staring up at the hotel ceiling. The memories of the night slowly trickling in. But as he played it back with the stunning clarity of morning, it felt so foreign, so out of body. Watching himself play a role he never remembered being cast in. Maybe not so far off from how it felt to play that stupid game.

He looked to his side, feeling through the sheets, but only finding the mere shadow of a warm body left. His stomach sank, wondering if Jinyoung was already long gone. Thinking back to the look in the man’s eyes when he'd asked for Mark to stay. Surely, he wouldn’t have asked him to stay only to leave, right?

“We need to revise it,” he heard a firm voice ring out. And when he rushed to sit up, he saw the crack left in the doorway of the bedroom. Just enough to hear Jinyoung’s muffled voice in the next room.

Mark breathed out something like relief. Gaze settling on his day clothes from yesterday carefully folded at the foot of the bed. He pulled them on, going to the window and pushing the curtains open. The sun was already high in the sky, clouded by winter gray that swept across the busy highways. Mark stood there for a moment, feeling the chill of the glass as he watched the people on the street, the cars on the roads. Thinking about Jinyoung’s words the evening before. Imagining those people as nothing but NPCs walking endless circles, oblivious to the main plot.

“It’s not too late,” Jinyoung’s voice seemed to argue. “We can put it in a patch.”

Mark followed the sound of his voice, drawn towards the crack in the door. He ducked down and peeked through, seeing the man dressed in his dress pants still. No shirt on his bare chest, eyebrows drawn tight as he paced back and forth in front of the window. 

“Everything needs to be sharpened up,” he said, exasperated into the phone. He leaned a forearm against the window, looking over the view of the skyline and the river. “It needs to be so much better,” he said, almost to himself.

Mark watched, still too sleepy and dazed to understand anything he was talking about. Eyes painting down his body and catching that bare chest, dress pants open at the waist like he’d hastily pulled them on. And it all made Mark remember last night so much more vividly. Remembering how it felt to have all that muscled weight pressing into him. That warmth he felt from the inside out.

“No, like the one on the chest. The center one. It needs to be darker. And the scar on the wrist too. Make it more raised,” Jinyoung said, arms tensing as he fisted his hands. Voice filled with frustration. “There’s still something off. Something missing.”

Mark didn’t need to know what he was talking about to be entranced by the powerful way in which he was saying it. Commanding whoever was on the receiving end. He watched him sit down in the desk chair and leaning his elbows against the desk. Dragging his fingers through his dark hair.

Mark felt the sight pull him in, slipping through the crack in the door and crawling on his hands and knees. Carefully trying to keep quiet as he came closer. He fit himself under the desk, settling between the man’s bare feet.

“This isn’t something we can push off to launch,” Jinyoung sighed, leaning back into his chair. “This is something that needs to happen now. Today.”

And maybe Mark should have hesitated, but he didn’t. Because sure, it wasn’t last night anymore and the morning light held no further expectation that he would continue to indulge Jinyoung. But despite that, Mark still wanted him with that same curious skepticism. Although perhaps more shamelessly now than last night. And wanting Jinyoung was reason enough for Mark to sneakily reach up, setting his fingers against the imprecise outline of the man’s cock through his dress pants.

“YeEs,” Jinyoung’s voice jumped, widened eyes immediately meeting Mark’s below. Mouth falling open at the sight. Both of them stilled for a moment before Jinyoung blinked. “Sorry,” he gulped, phone still held to his ear. “I mean yes.”

Mark bit down on his smile, eyes falling away to stare into Jinyoung’s lap. To watch his hand press down against him a little firmer. Looking up to see the man’s eyebrows draw up higher in the middle.

“Uhuh,” Jinyoung said, chest rising with a heavy breath. “I hear you.”

Mark laughed, low and under his breath, as he palmed him a bit harder. Feeling him firm out under his touch, remembering how the shape of him felt inside. His fingers walked themselves to the open fly of Jinyoung’s dress pants, thinking the man must have really been in a hurry to take that call. He wasn’t even wearing anything underneath. And Mark passively wondered how he’d found the time to fold up his clothes on the end of the bed. But he couldn’t find it within himself to complain, because the lack of layers made it that much easier to coax his cock free of his pants. Leaving it on display in front of his face, mouth watering at the sight.

“When can it be ready?” Jinyoung choked out into the phone. His other hand tightening against his leg. “I need it as soon as possible.”

Mark smirked, licking his lips before he lowered down onto Jinyoung’s cock. Tonguing at the enticing tip for just a taste before he closed his eyes and slid down the length of it. He felt Jinyoung’s thighs go tense on either side.

“Good,” the man breathed. “That’s great. That’s...” 

Mark looked up at Jinyoung as he pulled off, watching his chest heave and his eyes glaze over. Feeling powerful, even if he was sitting below. Emboldened to lick at his tip again, lapping at it as Jinyoung’s stare weighed heavier. Welcoming it, giving him something to watch as Mark took him in his mouth again.

“Yeah,” Jinyoung licked his lips, looking like he was trying to keep his voice and expression firm, but the desperation still bled through into his eyes. Making them so warm brown, round. Nearly glossy. “I’m still here.”

Mark closed his eyes again, sliding his lips down his length and feeling him fill his mouth. Tuning out Jinyoung’s words while tuning into the sound of his shuddering breath, the thrum of the pulse against his tongue, the murmur of the person on the phone.

“No,” Jinyoung breathed. “I want it done by you. You understand. You can be discrete.”

Mark only heard himself in it. Only heard how Jinyoung wanted this salacious indiscretion from him. And it just made him want to take that cock in his mouth deeper, made him hungry for that eager desire that Jinyoung hadn’t been able to hide from him last night. Wondering how far he could take Jinyoung, what the man would do.

Jinyoung hissed, holding his breath as he listened to the phone, watching Mark. “Call me if you run into any problems,” he managed to say, before tossing the phone onto the desk like it was the last thing he could ever care about. He reached down, fingers tangling into Mark’s red hair. Fervently pulling him in again.

But Mark fought against it, pulling off of him and looking up into his eyes. “Don’t,” he said, firmly. “This isn’t for you.”

The corner of Jinyoung’s mouth teased upward into a smirk. The grip in Mark’s hair softening. “Then who’s it for?” he asked.

Mark held his eyes. Firm and unwavering. “This is for me.”

Jinyoung’s smirk fell, mouth hanging open like he was trying to keep whatever noise in the back of his throat to himself. Jutting out from the chair a little more to get closer to Mark’s mouth. That hand in his hair going gentle as it fondled the curve of his neck, totally different from the zealousness it had held moments ago.

Mark sank back over him, working him firmer now. Deep motions of his mouth, tongue curling around him, hands not even needing to touch him. Winding Jinyoung tighter with just his mouth.

“Fuck, Em,” Jinyoung whimpered, throwing his head back as his hips rolled up into his mouth.

And it painted down Mark’s ears, that hot stroke of praise, enough to increase the pace. Watching the way it had Jinyoung’s chest and arms going taut, muscles constricting under the skin. Precum leaking against Mark’s tongue, tasting the CEO’s weak desperation heightening.

Jinyoung moaned wildly, looking back down at him with bleary eyes. Breaths wild as his eyebrows creased together. Those pathetic little breaths in his chest pitching slightly higher.

And Mark could see how close he was, could taste it. So he pulled off, sitting back on his haunches and looking up at him with a cruel glint in his eye.

“Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t,” Jinyoung breathed, eyes closing like just the sight of Mark would put him over the edge.

Mark licked his slick lips, tilting his head, “Don’t what?”

Jinyoung’s eyes fluttered open, looking at him. Words on the tip of his tongue, sitting just behind his lips. He gulped. “Don’t stop.”

Mark felt the words like a shiver down his spine. He leaned in, letting his tongue trace along the underside of Jinyoung’s cock. Hearing the little whine in the man’s throat when he did it. “Why shouldn’t I?” he hummed, lips brushing against him. “You said you like being teased.”

“God damn it, Mark,” Jinyoung groaned, hands combing into his red hair. Not handling him aggressively, but still soft, carefully. “Please,” he choked out. “I’m begging you.”

Mark licked his lips again. Getting too much pleasure from watching the CEO, who stood so stoic and firm, becoming meek and needy so easily. In a moment of mercy, he took Jinyoung in his mouth again. He worked back up to the pace he’d set before, feeling it cave Jinyoung from the inside out.

He moaned again, loud and hissing on the inhale. Hips struggling to not thrust up into Mark’s mouth as his eyes continued to track his lips. “Fucking hell, Em,” he cursed, sounding pitiful. The hands in Mark’s hair going shaky. “Fucking-” but the words devloved into moans as he spilled into Mark’s mouth, shuddering in his seat as Mark just kept working through it.

Mark held him there for a long moment, relishing the wild throb in his mouth, the tacky cum against his tongue, the sight of Jinyoung trying to piece his stoicism back together. But he eventually pulled away, swallowing that seed down before tucking Jinyoung back into his dress pants.

Jinyoung reached out, his hand gently coming up under Mark’s chin. Tilting it up to meet his eyes. “Why did you do that?” he panted, cradling his face.

Mark licked his lips, still tasting Jinyoung on them. “Cause I wanted to.” 

Jinyoung smiled, fond and handsome. “Come here,” he whispered as he reached for Mark, drawing him up and until he was sitting in his lap. His hand twisted into Mark’s shirt, pulling him in for a kiss. Licking into his mouth like he was trying to chase his own taste. Kisses going down his jaw, into the hollow of his throat. Hands tugging at the collar of Mark’s shirt to kiss against his collarbones.

Mark’s fingers tangled into Jinyoung’s dark hair, eyes closing as he felt the bite of Jinyoung’s teeth pinch his skin. “Who were you talking to?” he murmured, tugging on his hair to draw his attention.

“Bam,” Jinyoung murmured against his chest as he kept kissing it, ignoring Mark’s pulling like he had more important things to do.

“About?” 

“Just some patches that need to happen before release,” he shook his head, mouth going back up to Mark’s neck.

“Sounded like you were being pretty hard on him.” 

“Yeah, well. It needs to be perfect,” he grabbed under Mark’s legs, laying him flat against the desk and leaning over him. Vivid gaze skimming down his face. “Absolutely perfect,” he whispered. 

Mark’s warm flush soaked through him again. Feeling as if the words were meant solely for him. 

Jinyoung reached over, grabbing the hotel phone and holding to his ear.

Mark could hear the short ring, the muttering voice on the other side. 

“Yes,” Jinyoung said, keeping his eyes on Mark. “Extend my stay another night.” 

Mark looked up at him as he hung up the phone, eyebrows creasing together in confusion.

Jinyoung sighed, just as dreamy as his smile. “Let's go back to bed,” he said. And it was too soft. Not at all like the biting sarcasm and smugness that had gotten Mark into bed the night before. It was gentle and earnest.

And maybe, it should have made Mark smile, made him feel warm just like those fragments of tenderness that kept peeking from behind Jinyoung’s sharp edges. Not too far off from the softness that Mark had dismissed the night before. But it didn’t make him smile now. Because the way the man was looking at Mark, speaking to Mark, with no arrogance in his round eyes, no apathy in his gentle smile, nothing but earnest fondness in his voice, it was too much of a contrast from who Mark kept telling himself Jinyoung was. And it threw everything they’d had done into question, making Mark think, for the first time, that maybe last night had been a mistake. Maybe this morning had been a mistake. Maybe this whole dynamic was something he shouldn’t have messed with in the first place.

The panic ran straight through him, leaving him only one choice. “I have to go.” 

“What?” Jinyoung’s expression went pale, losing its warmth as his smile fell. “Why?” 

Mark suddenly felt pinned against the desk, like Jinyoung was dissecting him with his eyes. “I have a stream to do.”

Jinyoung’s face tightened as he studied Mark’s features. Averting his eyes to Mark’s chest, eyes glazing over. Leaning down to start kissing him there again, like it would bother him if he didn’t. “Do it from here,” he murmured. “I’ll have them bring everything you need.” 

“No,” Mark pushed against his chest, sitting himself up and fixing his t-shirt on his shoulders. “It’s a different background. Would lead to too many questions. I need to go home and do it.” 

Jinyoung sat back in the chair, staring at him. Looking bothered and hesitant. “Let me take you home at least.” 

“No, Jinyoung,” Mark shook his head, pushing himself off the desk. “I can find my own way.” He walked himself to the bedroom, trying to locate the rest of his things.

“Mark,” Jinyoung called after him, following him into the room. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what?” Mark said, pulling on his sneakers.

Jinyoung stood in the doorway, his chest looking wider now. A downward turn of his eyebrows making him look angry. “You know what you’re doing.”

“Enlighten me then,” Mark shrugged, bypassing him into the living room and grabbing his jacket. Not knowing what it meant when the anger felt easier for him to fall back into with Jinyoung. As if he’d missed it.

Jinyoung turned, arms crossing over his chest, “You’re shutting down.” 

Mark went still, looking back at him. Wondering, for a moment, if Jinyoung could have been right that time they first met. If he really knew everything about him. Because he hadn’t been wrong yet.

Jinyoung came closer, pulling Mark’s arms open and slotting between them. His hands reaching for Mark’s face, handling him so gently. “Please, Em,” he whispered. “Talk to me.” 

And there it was again. Aching, genuine softness. Just as jarring as it had been before. Mark swallowed, pulling away. “I’ll talk to you later,” he murmured. Catching the despondency in Jinyoung’s eyes for only a moment before he left that hotel room.

\---

A long train ride home with a battery dead phone offered Mark plenty of time to think. Plenty of time to note every single young couple in the train car and study the way they looked at each other, talked to each other. That same aching softness that Mark couldn’t help but replay in Jinyoung’s words, his expressions as he had begged Mark to stay, begged him to open up, to talk to him.

And all of it just had the anxiety rising higher, playing out in his head what could have happened if he’d stayed. Would they have laid in bed all morning? Talking closely, kissing more? Would Jinyoung have really brought him everything he needs to stream? Looked at him like he was proud? Would he have kissed him before he started? Murmuring unnecessary good lucks against his mouth? Would he have drawn Mark up into his arms when he was finished? Taken him back to bed? Been eager to explore his body once more? To fall asleep in his arms again?

Mark didn’t know. Because he shut down. Because he left. And he wasn’t quite sure what was worse: the possibility of Jinyoung disappointing him or the reality that Mark would never know whether he would have or not.

By the time he got home, he was eagerly looking around the package area for anything with his name on it, any blue heart sticker he could see. He sighed when he came up short, going up to his floor and stopping at Jackson’s door to knock.

“Hey,” he said, when his friend answered. “Did you steal another package of mine?”

“From your secret admirer?” Jackson raised his brows. “Not today. Why?”

“Just wondering,” Mark said, not wanting to admit anything deeper.

“How was the award ceremony?”

“Fine,” Mark said, starting to turn back towards his apartment.

“Wait,” Jackson’s eyebrows creased, grabbing Mark’s arm. “Why do you have all your things?” But before Mark could answer, he gasped, “Oh my god. Are you just getting home?”

“Jackson-”

“Who was it?” the man reached out, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. “If you say it was Mr. Park-”

“Jinyoung,” Mark corrected. “Stop calling him Mr. Park. You make him sound so old.”

“Holy shit,” Jackson’s eyes widened. “You need to tell me everything. Right. Now.”

“Well,” Mark said. “I can’t. I have another stream.”

Jackson’s expression turned, suddenly deathly serious. “Well then, go,” he turned Mark, pushing him towards his door. “Play your man’s game. I’ll be watching.”

Mark stumbled forward, looking over his shoulder. “He’s not-” but Jackson was already slamming the door shut. 

Mark sighed. Walking himself the rest of the way, heart sinking in his chest when there was nothing left on his doorstep. Thinking to himself that he could really use a blue heart sticker right about now.


	6. Act III

No matter how fast the car seemed to go, the crystal clear sky that Blue watched from the window stayed open, blue, endless. But in between blinks, it seemed to change, glitch. As his eyes defocused, all he could see was dark gray concrete stretching out overhead. And instead of openness, he suddenly felt so closed in, as if the sounds around him would bounce off those concrete walls and back towards him. But despite that, the endlessness stayed constant, feeling as if he’d never reach the end of the tunnel. And the hard to define feeling felt fuzzy and out of reach but nevertheless glaringly there, occupying his attention.

“What do you think, Blue?”

He blinked again, looking over and catching Z staring back for a moment before his eyes panned back to the road.

“Sorry,” Blue murmured, reassociating. “What were you saying?”

“You okay?” King asked, softly touching his shoulder from the backseat. “You zoned out for a second.”

Blue shook his head, “I’m fine. Tell me what you were saying.”

“They want to go to the archives,” Dandy said.

“What are the archives?”

“It’s kind of like a library,” King said, leaning forward over the console to speak to Blue. “It’s where all the written records of the Dust have been kept for years.”

“And what do you expect to find there?” Blue asked, looking to Z.

Z was quiet for a moment, eyes focused on the road in front of him. “Evidence.”

“Of?”

“The Lark children,” he said, turning down off the road.

“Why would they be in Dust records?” Blue looked towards King.

“Because they were practically royalty in Nova City,” King urged. “And when they disappeared, the media talked about it for weeks.”

“And that kind of story made it all the way out here to the Dust,” Dandy said. “I remember it like it was yesterday.”

“Weren’t you like five?” Z asked, raising a brow into the rearview mirror.

“I was seven. And very mature for my age.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Z said, with a tint of playfulness in his tone.

“Anyway,” King rolled his eyes. “We are hoping that we can find some records of the children to start with.”

“So,” Z looked over. “What’s your vote?”

Blue caught his eyes, feeling the intake of breath they elicited. Warmth tickling at his skin as he felt Z waiting on his words. “For,” he smiled. “Seems like a no brainer to me.”

The corner of Z’s mouth tugged ever so slightly, looking back towards the road as if to hide it. “I agree,” he breathed.

When they arrived, the archives weren’t anything like what Blue imagined. Nothing like the libraries he’d read about in his books. No historic architecture, no marble pillars at the entrance. No, instead it was a massive warehouse that sat in the middle of nothing. No windows revealing what was inside. And after they parked outside, Z took Dandy with him to start looking while King and Blue lay across the windshield of the car. King relaxing in the sun while Blue continued to reread the only paperback he’d thought to pack before escaping into the desert. 

“Soooo,” King’s face tilted upwards towards the sky. “You and Z.”

“Me and Z what?” Blue asked, licking his fingertip to turn the page.

King looked over, catching Blue’s eyes as he raised a suggestive eyebrow. A smirk stretched across his mouth.

Blue felt the flutter in his chest, clutching his open book against it like it would smother the sensation. “No,” he said, chin dropping in a warning look.

King laughed, bright and bold just like everything about him. “You can’t fool an android,” he said. “I can practically see his red handprints all over you.”

And Blue dared to remember Z’s hands. How they had unwrapped the scarf from his neck, gripped his face when they kissed, clutched his chest when he- 

“And you guys weren’t exactly quiet enough for my hearing,” King said with a smack of his lips. “So, thanks for that.” 

Blue felt himself burn red with embarrassment. Shaking his head dismissively, “I’m sure it was just Z being Z.” Because he couldn’t chock it up to anything except that. Afterall, Z had told him what he’d been looking for the night of the party and Blue had just been in the right place, right time. Just a singular collision of two lines that were going in opposite directions.

“Maybe,” King shrugged, an all-knowing glint in his silver eyes. “Maybe not.”

Blue stared at him, trying to piece apart what he was insinuating, but before he could ask, King’s eyes blinked, his expression falling flat for just a moment. He jumped from the hood of the car.

“What’s wrong?” Blue said, watching him.

“We need to go,” King said, urgency in his tone as he started to walk away.

“What?” Blue’s head snapped to the empty horizon, doing a double take. “Why?”

King barely looked back, motioning for him to follow, “Come on.”

Blue closed his book, stuffing it into his satchel as he got up. He tried to keep pace with King’s quick boots, chasing him into the building. 

Inside, there were rows and rows of boxes that sat on tall shelves that loomed overhead. Each of them looking gray and long and Blue was momentarily stopped. Thinking back to that endless tunnel and wondering if it was anything like this place. But he blinked again, catching the clack of King’s boots as he swiftly turned down an aisle. He chased after him again, down the length of the aisle where Dandy and Z sat. Outstretched on the floor around them were files, papers, but as soon as King and Blue started to come closer, their eyes raised.

“We need to leave,” King said, voice steady as he stopped in front of them.

Z and Dandy looked at each other for a moment, before looking up at him again. 

“Crows?” Dandy suggested.

King shook his head. “Def just sent me a message. He said he has something he thinks we should see,” he said. “Said to come quick.”

Z rose to his feet. “Where is he?” he said, closing the folder he’d been looking at.

“He sent me his coordinates,” King said. “Let’s go.”

“Collect what you can,” Z said to Dandy, scrounging a few files together in his hands. “Let’s pack up and move out.”

Without exchanging any more words, the four of them piled into the car. But as soon as Blue slid into the passenger seat, Z tossed something into his lap. He looked down at the hardcover book facing up towards him. He picked it up, raising it to his eyes.

“What’s this?” Blue asked, looking over at him.

Z stretched to grab his seatbelt, buckling himself in. “What does it look like?”

Blue turned it over, eyes skimming through the text. He looked back at him. “Why are you giving this to me?”

“I found it,” Z shrugged, adjusting his mirror as the car quietly turned on. “You’re into them, right?”

And perhaps it was because the air conditioning was still kicking on, but Blue felt warm all over. A smile unable to stop growing on his face. “I am,” he nodded, fingers running over the cover with more fondness this time. “Thank you.”

“Mhm,” Z hummed, preoccupied as he pulled back onto the road.

They didn’t stop driving until they came upon a ranch-style house. Outside of it, a large van sat. A big round satellite dish on the side and a kaleidoscope of graffitied colors across the dingy white.

“Woah,” Blue gasped. “Is this where they broadcast?”

“They switch locations,” Z said from the backseat. “Always got to keep moving if you are the head of a rebel communication system.”

They parked, getting out of the car. Spilling from the van was a haphazard trail of wires that snaked up the path towards the ranch. The four followed it, coming inside. The house was maximally decorated with bohemian decor. Beaded curtains in the doorways and fluffy shag rugs in sickening yellows and green. Some kind of time capsule that Blue couldn’t help but admire. In the living room, the broadcast equipment was spread out across the dining room table. Microphones, tape decks, stacks of CD and cassette cases and that weaving of chaotic looking wiring cascading like a waterfall off the edge.

“In here!” Ars’ voice shouted from the next room. They followed the sound. 

As soon as Blue walked into the garage, the smell hit him like a freight train. Wet and warm and metallic. And immediately, it elicited some kind of dream like fantasy that itched at his mind. Surfacing from nowhere like a stray thought he was getting wound up in. Seeing it play out in his mind.

“Son,” a firm voice called. “Get in here.”

And when Blue came closer, he saw the body laying face down in the middle of their living room. He saw the bright red blood seeping into the white carpet. The endless night outside the panoramic windows of their penthouse was thick with skyscrapers, rain dotting the glass.

But Blue’s eyes were trained on the bright red, on the limp body. “What happened, Daddy?” he asked, shifting his weight between his bare feet. “I thought Simon was your favorite bodyguard.”

“He was,” his father shrugged, looking unimpressed by the scene. “But he was working for the wrong side. He was working for the Surge.”

Blue looked up at him, watching him loom so much higher, “The who?”

“A group of malnourished rats out in the desert,” he scoffed. “Of which you’ll never have the displeasure of meeting.”

“Are they bad?”

“They’re worse than bad,” he said, tone thick with disgust. “They are nobodies. Calling themselves freedom fighters. Not understanding that being chained to their useless cause is a prison itself.”

Blue was trying to listen but it was hard. The smell of the blood was burning his nose.

“My son,” his father called. “Come to me.” 

Blue looked to him, slowly coming closer. Watching as his father squatted down to his level, taking his hands. And Blue looked at his father’s much larger hands, noticing how they were subtly flecked with the blood. Watching it stain brown against his skin.

“This is what being a leader is about,” his father told him softly. Like it was a secret between them. “It’s about making hard decisions. About not getting too close to anyone. Because _anyone_ could betray your trust.”

Blue suddenly wanted to cry. “Then I don’t want to be a leader,” he murmured, trying to pull his hands away, worried about that blood staining his hands too. But his father’s grip was too strong.

The man laughed, totally unfitting of the context. “You will, son,” he said, reaching out to trail his fingers into Blue’s hair. “And before I’m gone, I’m going to wipe out this desert plague, so that they are one less thing you have to deal with.”

There was a heavy thud on the floor that had them both turning towards the door. Seeing a woman standing, bags dropped and spilling out over the floor. The woman’s eyes were wide, her mouth tight. Gaze glued to the body on the carpet.

“Night,” she gasped. “This isn’t something he needed to see.” She went to Blue, pulling him away and clutching his face against her chest, shielding his eyes uselessly.

“You know who he’ll be one day,” his father said, standing to his feet. Dark voice looming over both of them. “You know what he’ll need to see.”

“He’s just a boy,” she hissed.

“And he’ll grow up to be a man. A powerful man. Like his father,” he said, a trace of a smile in his voice. “Not like his mother. Who would rather be trapped in a lab, entertaining the fallacy of free will. Trying to imbue her machines with it.”

“That’s enough, Night,” she said, firmly. “You’ve made your point.”

The silence dragged out, feeling rife with tension as Blue felt so small in his mother’s arms. So safe. Not having to worry about any blood on her hands staining him.

His father sighed. “I’ll have this cleaned up before dinner,” he said, dress shoes clicking against the floor as he walked from the room. 

“It’s okay,” Blue’s mom hushed into his ears. And it was only then that Blue realized that maybe it wasn’t. The words and touches of his mom felt hot on his skin. So, so hot...

The ranch garage was stifling hot. And unlike the endless night beyond the penthouse views, the sun in here shined in from the row of windows at the top of the garage door, leaving rectangles of light across the back wall. Ars was standing on the periphery of the room, leaned up against a counter where a plethora of carpentry tools hung behind him. Across the concrete floor, an all white laser gun lay. But what caught Blue’s eyes immediately wasn’t the dingy gray, but bright, glossy red. His eyes raised upwards toward the middle of the room, where a man dressed was tied up in a chair. A hand behind his back, his head hanging loosely. Lifelessly. The Crow mask that intended to cover his eyes, nose, mouth, had been shifted. And Blue could see half of his expression, eyes closed, mouth open. From his lips and throat, a pooling of blood soaked down the front of his black tactical clothes, dripping onto the floor. Def was at his side, fingers working to undo the knotted rope at his ankles.

“What happened?” Dandy asked, the only one seemingly able to communicate exactly the question they all must have been thinking.

Def kept untying him, swallowing before he answered. “Ars caught him sneaking around our van,” he said, voice weak in his throat. Hoarse and nearly whispered. 

“And?” Blue asked, eyes still too focused on the blood.

“We tied him up, talked to him for a while.” Def undid the knot at his back, watching the dead body slide from the chair onto the ground, soaking into the blood.

Blue looked wide eyed, up at Ars. Begging for more explanation.

“But as soon as we left the room for a second, he got his hands on a pistol and offed himself,” the man shrugged, face indifferent. Scoffing under his breath, “Fucking coward.”

“Why did they send just one?” Z asked, tone serious as his eyes stayed fixated on the body. 

“Yeah,” Dandy looked over. “I thought they were all about power in numbers.”

“Who knows,” Ars rolled his eyes. “I don’t waste my time trying to get in the mind of some brainwashed infantry grunt.”

Blue looked to Z at his side, noticing how his eyes immediately flicked up to Ars. A certain tightness in his brow, his jaw that couldn’t be explained.

King knelt down, putting his hand over Def’s. “Baby,” he said, softly. “You’re shaking.”

“Sorry,” Def shook his head. Drawing his hands away and wiping at his nose. “Just… didn’t expect…” but his words trailed off like he was in shock.

“Let me take care of it,” King soothed, tilting Def’s head towards him and kissing his temple before he reached out, refixing the mask on the man’s face, as if perhaps it might conceal the reality of what happened. Of a life lost, no matter what side it was on.

All of them stood around in eerie silence as they watched. Blue felt shaken, confronting some sort of mortality that he hadn’t realized was in question. Because even the Crows at the mart, the threat at the party, hadn’t compared to the overwhelming proximity of this in broad daylight.

“What did he say?” Z said, breaking up Blue’s thoughts.

“Well,” Ars raised a brow. “If what he said is true-”

Blue blinked, perking up, “About Night Lark?”

Ars’ glare snapped to him. “How would you-” but before he could finish, he stopped. Eyes looking around at the others. Softening in realization.

“It’s true, Ars,” Z sighed. “He’s dead.”

“And this Titanic guy?” he said, less arrogance in his voice now. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?” Z said, voice sounding strained as he kept it steady. “What did the Crow say?”

“That he’s brutal,” Def said, misty eyes lifting up towards them. “Cutthroat. Will stop at nothing. Will do anything to find the last heir.”

King froze. “The last?” he whispered.

“Two are already dead,” Ars said matter-of-factly, arms crossing tightly over his chest.

Blue felt the tone of the room shift again, somehow even more tense than it had been. As if the four of them were realizing how behind they were. “How?” he asked, stepping forward.

The DJ’s eyes narrowed. “How do you think?” he sneered.

“Ars,” Z chided, eyes intently focused on him in a warning.

Ars stared back at him, exhaling and losing only a miniscule amount of firmness. “He didn’t give details,” he shrugged. “But he seemed confident in his information.”

Z stepped closer, putting a hand to King’s shoulder. “You okay?” he asked, voice quieter.

Blue looked to the android, noticing how blank his eyes were. Defocused on nothing. And that usual brightness of his smile, his skin, seemed dulled. Gray as the concrete below their feet.

“I,” King swallowed. “I need a moment.” And without another word, he rose sullenly to his feet and walked out of the room.

Def looked around, face nervous. “I need to-”

“Go,” Z beckoned towards the door. “Help him.”

After Def left, more silence followed. The four of them standing around the corpse, the blood puddle starting to turn brown around the edges in the dry desert heat.

“So,” Ars sighed. “You all knew about this?”

“Yeah,” Z said, making it sound like an admission of guilt. “We knew.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Ars nearly hissed, eyes sharp. “You didn’t tell the Surge?”

Z didn’t give into his anger, holding steady. “We wanted to get more information first.”

“Bullshit,” Ars scoffed. His voice growing stronger with every word spat, “You wanted to keep this for yourself so that you could be the goddamn hero and-”

“Ars,” Z tried to stop him.

But the man didn’t stop, stepping closer, “Would it _kill_ you to think-” 

Z groaned, “I was trying to think-”

“About yourself,” Ars said resolutely, voice full of disgust. “Only ever about yourself.”

“That’s not true,” Z shook his head.

“Then what is true, Z?” Ars threw his arms. “Why would you keep this from the cause? From _me_?”

Z sighed, sounding exhausted. He looked up to Dandy, “Can you two give us a minute?”

“Sure, man,” Dandy said, tapping Blue’s shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”

Blue’s eyes darted between the couple again, feeling the garage so painfully rife with tension that the smell of blood seemed even stronger, the hot air even more suffocating. Blue’s head felt dizzy as he followed behind Dandy.

Once they got outside, the fresh air smelled like absolutely nothing and the wind sounded like deafening noise. Blue took a deep breath, trying to calm down, but he couldn’t escape the image of the dead Crow. The stench of the rotting blood feeling like it had seeped into his clothes.

“What a fucking mess,” Dandy shook his head, sitting himself on the edge of the trunk. “For the record, none of this would have happened if we told Surge first.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Blue said, his head someplace else as he sat beside him. He tried to pull himself out, looking over, “Are things always this… heavy?”

“No,” Dandy shook his head, reaching into his pocket and pulling out some chips. “You seem to have come in at the wrong time.” He started crunching on his snack, offering Blue the bag. “Want some?”

Blue shook his head, still feeling too sickened to have an appetite. He habitually reached into his bag to grab his paperback, but felt something that hadn’t been there before. He pulled out the hardcover book Z had given him. His fingers tracing the letters of the title. He opened it up, but the first page wasn’t lines of justified text stretched from end to end but closed stanzas sandwiched together. Blank space. Poems.

Blue wasn’t quite sure the feeling it filled him with. But it was warm, comforting. The way new books always were. But more than that too. Something he could only equate to the way Z’s face had nuzzled into his bare back, their fingers intertwined as the warmth of Z’s body had contoured his own, falling into a gentle sleep in the softest bed he’d ever remembered sleeping in. The book in his hands, the gift, felt like that.

He managed to get a few pages in before he heard footsteps on the gravel. He raised his eyes, watching Z walk up with King in his wake.

“Let’s go,” he said, opening up the driver’s door.

“Where are we going?” Dandy said, wiping his crumby hands on his pants.

“We’ll talk in the car.”

Blue watched in the side mirror as the house behind them got smaller the farther away they pulled out, turning back onto the road.

“Okay,” Dandy spoke first. “Two Lark children confirmed dead. That leaves just one.” 

“The youngest son,” Z murmured. “King. How old would he be by now?” 

King blinked, still fading in and out of a haze. “Twenty-six,” he answered. “With a birthday coming up next month.”

Blue looked at him in a backseat, heart twisting in his chest. “You two must have been close,” he said softly.

King’s mouth pressed into a tight smile, looking pained. “We were,” he nodded.

“Would you know him if you saw him, King?” Z asked, looking into the rearview.

“I don’t know,” King shook his head. “As an android, I might just think too literally to be able to spot him. He’d have grown up so much since I saw him.” 

Z sighed, hands gripping into the wheel. “I guess we just have to go off what we know.” 

“Which is?” Blue asked.

“He’s alive,” Z said firmly. “And he’s the one thing Titanic hasn’t destroyed on his climb to the top.” 

King reached for Z’s shoulder, clutching it firmly, “We _need_ to find him. Everything is riding on it.” 

“Helloooo?” Dandy sneered, face drawing up on one side. “When are we telling the Surge, Z?”

“Tomorrow,” Z said, solemnly. “When the radio goes static.” 

“When the radio what?” Blue looked around the car.

Z looked over, “When Surge call a meeting, the radio plays no music. Nothing but static.” 

“They are going to lose it,” Dandy murmured, sinking back into his seat.

Z focused on the road, brows furrowing together as he took a hand off the wheel, leaning his elbow into the window sill as he bit into his thumbnail, “We have bigger problems than that.”

“What do you mean?” Blue asked.

Z hesitated. The words held up in his mouth for a moment too long before he finally spoke them, “I think we have a spy.” 

“What?” Dandy’s eyes went wide.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Z shook his head, eyes fixed on the horizon. “The Crows seem to be just one step behind us. They show up anywhere we go. Even planning to attack us during the party. They _have to_ be getting that intel from someone on the inside.” 

Dandy shook his head, “No one keeps tabs on all the Surge locations though.”

“Radio does,” Z said. “They are the only ones with that information.” 

“Z,” King said, warning in his tone. “Careful what you say next.” 

“It’s not Def,” Z shook his head.

“So you think it’s Ars?” Blue blinked in disbelief.

“Z,” Dandy scoffed. “That’s insane.” 

“Is it?” Z asked, growing slightly defensive. “You saw how that Crow looked. Do you really think he offed himself?” He shook his head, face pensive. “It _had_ to have been him. Maybe that’s why they only sent one Crow. To dispatch some kind of message to Ars. And Def wasn’t supposed to find him.” 

“Z, Ars is a legacy,” King urged. “His father _died_ at the hands of the city. I know you have your grudges with him but-” 

“This isn’t about grudges,” Z snapped. “This is the only thing that makes sense.”

“Z,” Dandy called, pointing out the window. “Look.”

All of their gazes panned to the left, looking past the windows at the horizon that stretched out. A usually clear and crisp line, it was now hazy, orange. Billowing clouds like smoke growing and converging.

“Dust storm,” Blue murmured, having seen enough of them at the cabin. Remembering having to close all the windows and doors. Remembering the orange-toned night they momentarily brought on, sweeping up the messy remnants that slipped through the cracks.

“We should find a place to settle down till it passes,” King said.

“Don’t worry,” Z turned the car towards the right, foot pressing a little harder into the pedal. “I have a place in mind.”

\---

They managed to keep just ahead of the storm, speeding along the road until they came upon a large building. Outside a sign in a shape Blue had never seen. Like a huge bottle, all white with any hint of letter bleached out by the sun. The group rushed to pull up, running towards the front doors. King leveraging his full strength to get them open.

Inside the building, it was black as night, footsteps softened by carpeted floors, but every other small sound echoed, as if the place was truly as massive as it seemed to be from the outside. No windows in sight, it was completely closed in, hollow. They all took slow steps into the dark quiet, untrusting of what it could hold. 

“I can’t see a goddamn thing,” Dandy said, squinting his eyes as he whipped his head around.

“I can,” King said contently, cocky smile spreading across his face. “Trust me. You’re going to love it.”

“I’m going to get the power on,” Z said, moving towards the door.

Blue reached out, grabbing onto the sleeve of his red leather jacket, “But the storm.”

Z looked at him, gaze panning down his features. A small little smirk pressed against his pretty mouth. “It’s just a little dust, Baby Blue.”

Blue took a deep breath, stepping closer to him. He pulled at the blue scarf around his own neck, removing it before laying it over Z’s shoulders.

Z stared back at him, smirk fallen, looking stunned. And something else too. Something harder to place.

A touch of embarrassment heated Blue’s cheeks as he started wrapping it around Z’s neck, his chin. “Be safe,” he said, tucking the loose ends together.

And Z didn’t stop him, didn’t stop staring at him either. That same blank expression. He nodded, “I will.”

King ran into the darkness, howling with laughter. The distant sound of heavy thumps against a wood floor shaking under their feet.

Dandy groaned. “King!” he called. “What the-” He chased after the android.

Both of them disappeared into darkness, leaving Blue by the door, feeling at his arms as he heard the persistent wind getting louder just outside. And it made him feel so anxious to imagine Z out there, struggling through the wind like gravity was working against him. Blue found himself counting the seconds in his head, promising himself that if he reached a hundred, he’d… well, he’d do _something._

_Fifty-four, fifty-five, fifty-six-_

The lights flicked on all at once, so bright and fluorescent that Blue’s eyes nearly hurt as they tried to adjust. He squinted, watching the room come into view. The carpeted floor below his feet was checkered with pastel greens and corals, stiff from years of use and then years of disuse. It led up to a wood paneled floor that ran forward in straight lines towards the back wall. _Desert Bowl,_ it spelled out in big green letters with blacked out holes along the wall. Blue pulled a face, not understanding any of it.

The front door was thrown open with a crash, the sound of roaring wind whipping through the room before it properly slammed, dulling the noise. Blue looked over, watching Z stumble back in. That blue scarf up around his face, goggles over his eyes. Sand dusting the edges of his red hair.

“Are you okay?” Blue said, rushing closer. Starting to reach out and brush the sand away from his hair, his shoulders.

“I’m fine,” Z said, shaking his head and taking off his goggles. And when he met Blue’s eyes, they both couldn’t help but smile.

Blue reached up, brushing away the little crystals that had gotten stuck under his eyes. “Did the scarf help?” he asked, smile brightening.

Z stared back at him, smile so gentle on his handsome face. “Yes,” he said, starting to take it off. He draped it back over Blue’s shoulders. “Thank you.”

“I’ll set up the pins!” Dandy shouted, causing them both to look over at the boy shakily walking the narrow line down towards the back wall.

“What is this place?” Blue asked.

Z huffed, “You’ve never seen a bowling alley?”

Blue looked at him, shaking his head.

“Well,” Z said, offering his hand. “Come on. We’ll play.”

Blue looked to his hand, feeling so suddenly lighter than air as he took it, letting Z drag him closer to where King was spinning a multicolor ball against the wood floor.

“Alright,” Z said, pointing down the wood aisle. “You have a ball and you roll it down the lane. Try to knock down as many pins as you can.”

Blue’s eyes went wider, looking back at him, “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Z shrugged. “Let’s get you a ball while these clowns set up.”

The game wasn’t as easy as Z had made it sound. Blue would hold his glossy blue bowling ball, carefully trying to line it up with the pyramid of pins at the end of the lane, but everytime he went to throw it, something went wonky, sending it careening for the gutter. Meanwhile, King was rolling perfect strikes that they didn’t even bother to count and Dandy was helping reset the pins after every turn. Z’s technique seemed the most practiced, careful in the way he let the ball roll from his hand. Eyes following it all the way down the lane until it finally knocked all the pins down.

It was Blue’s turn and he’d already managed to pitch one into the gutter.

“You’re spinning it,” Z called out from his seat behind him.

“I’m not trying to!” Blue pouted. “Come here and help me.”

Z groaned, rolling his eyes. “Fine,” he agreed. He slid in front of Blue, putting the ball into his hand and gripping around his wrist. “You need to keep this strong, okay? Don’t let it go weak at the last moment.”

Blue looked at him from over the bowling ball, feeling the warm press of his fingers around his wrist. Not able to think about anything but weakness. “What will I win if I get this strike?” he smirked.

Z’s eyes lit up, dazzling in the warm, antique light. “What do you want?” he whispered, letting suggestion linger in the pulled corner of his mouth.

“Hmm,” Blue hummed, leaning closer to settle his chin on the bowling ball. “Your name.”

Z’s eyebrows lifted, “My na-” He stopped himself. Smile falling and eyes going darker, harder. He swallowed. “That’s not funny, Blue.”

He watched Z’s expression turn so quickly, feeling it drop his own smile, his own stomach. He felt the press of Z’s fingers go tighter, making him wince. “Why not?”

“You can’t joke about stuff like that,” he said, anger rising up into his expression, tightening his jaw.

Blue felt smaller, looking into Z’s eyes and knowing he’d crossed some sort of line he hadn’t even known had been there. But being totally unwilling to acknowledge it. “Don’t be so serious,” he huffed. “It’s just a name-”

“Throw your own damn ball,” Z said, stepping away from him. “You don’t need my help.”

Blue was left standing there at the edge of the lane. The ball feeling heavier in his hands. Wrist feeling weak. Everything feeling weak. He tried to refocus. Setting his sights on the pins, but as soon as he went to roll it, his mind flickered back to Z’s anger, wondering immediately what had warranted it. The lapse in focus made him drop the ball too early, watching it roll straight for the gutter.

\---

The sound of the storm died down to nothing and as night fell so did something quiet, sleepy. King plugged in, sitting up against the wall and charging himself while Dandy was stretched over a bench, mouth open as shiny drool gleamed from his chin and a soft little snore filtered out of his mouth. Z had volunteered to keep watch up on the roof, finding an access point in a storage room. Blue had been trying to read, trying to get comfortable on the bowling alley seats, but he itched with an antsiness that he couldn’t shake.

He knew why he was so restless. It was the remorse, the guilt. Replaying him and Z’s conversation too many times and cringing. Trying to decode Z’s sudden shift from playful to enraged before the speculation became too much to bear, at which point he too found himself climbing up the ladder of that access point with his book between his teeth. A blanket from the trunk of the car tossed over his shoulder. A can of citrus soda he’d found poking around the bar in his pocket. He crawled up through the opening, following the brightness of the endlessly navy, starry sky above. 

Z was sitting alongside the edge, looking back at him. “What are you doing here?” he asked, sounding surprised.

Blue crawled out, removing the book from his teeth and coming closer to stand over him, “Thought you could use some company.” He pulled the can of soda from his pocket, setting it next to Z.

He went quiet. The sounds of the night feeling so much louder than the day. The wind and the insects harmonizing as Z looked up at Blue with near confusion in his eyes. Totally indifferent to the soda.

“I brought a blanket too,” Blue said, offering it towards Z. “In case you were cold.”

Z looked at it for a moment, eyes redirecting to the horizon. “I’m okay.”

Blue felt the small sink of disappointment. Not letting it deter him. He took a seat, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders as he opened his book again. Eyes skimming down the page that he’d been working on. Not sure if it was easier or harder to read in Z’s presence now.

“What are you reading?” Z murmured from beside him without looking.

“The book you got me.”

“How is it?” he asked. “Hopefully not porn.”

“It’s not,” Blue shook his head. “It’s poetry actually.”

Z was quiet for a moment, like he might drop the subject entirely. But he didn’t. “Can you read to me?”

Blue looked at him, seeing his eyes still on the horizon. Feeling the smallest little flutter of hopefulness in his chest before he looked back down towards his book, starting to read.

_“I never noticed before_  
_How the red flowers hang from the blue branches_  
_I never noticed before the light in this room_  
_I never noticed the way the air is cool again_  
_I never noticed anything but you_  
_But you but you_  
_So that I couldn’t sleep_  
_I never noticed what was anything but you_  
_Until I noticed you_  
_And could not help it_  
_Until I noticed you I could not help it_  
_Until you made the red flowers alive again_  
_Until the blue branches_  
_The lemons you loved, but also the way you loved me, too_  
_Until all of this I never noticed you_  
_But once I did_  
_I never minded noticing_  
_I never stopped noticing_  
_Until I noticed you_  
_I never stopped noticing_  
_Until you, I never stopped”_

Blue reached the end of the page, words falling away to nothing. Silence feeling so different now. Navy blue sky dotted with stars glimmering just a little brighter now as if they were patiently watching, waiting for what was next.

Z’s eyes weren’t on the horizon or Blue, but instead drawn up towards that starry night sky. And when he spoke, it was with none of that confidence that Blue’s voice had held when reading the words on the page, something already laid out in front of his eyes. No, his voice was softer, unsure, like he was feeling around in the darkness. He sighed, “How do you believe in all that stuff, Blue?”

“What stuff?” 

He looked over, meeting his eyes. “Love.”

Blue stared at him, feeling that flutter in his chest a little more intense like it couldn’t decide between excitement and apprehension. Knowing he needed to be less careless than he’d been in the bowling alley. Curating each word before he said it. “I just do,” he shrugged. “As sure as you believe that the sun will rise tomorrow.” 

A wisp of laughter left Z’s mouth, teeth gleaming back like stars. “I’ve _seen_ the sun rise,” he said. “You’ve never been in love.” 

“I have love,” Blue argued. “For my sister, my family.” 

“That’s different,” Z said. “That’s easy. Biological. The other kind…” his words trailed off, eyes averting. Smile going stale before it fell away to nothing.

Blue watched him, taking in every clear cut detail of his face. Somehow even sharper in darkness. Like the night was laying him more bare, more vulnerable than the sun ever could.

Z looked over, catching his eyes. “What?” he asked, sounding suddenly self conscious. 

Blue shrugged, “I think you believe in it too.” 

“I don’t,” Z said, like it was a reflex.

Blue couldn’t help but laugh at his defensiveness, “You can’t fear something you don’t believe.”

Z’s brows drew together, turning to face Blue fully, “You think I _fear_ love?” 

Blue’s eyes were so drawn to him, taking in every beautiful detail like they were stars in the sky. “You tell me.” 

Z shook his head, settling back into his seat. “I don’t fear anything,” he said, looking back at the horizon.

Blue watched him, the silence feeling heavier this time. Full of Z’s defensive elusiveness that he hid behind, his feigned indifference. And it felt so useless to use it here, wielding it against Blue like he was trying to preserve some kind of dwindling space between them. And it made Blue resent himself for crossing the line, setting them back.

“I’m sorry,” he said, nervous remorse twisting his stomach. “For what happened back there. I shouldn’t have-”

“It’s fine, Blue,” he said calmly. “It was just… bad timing.”

He carefully folded his book up in his hands, clutching it against his chest. “What happened with you and Ars?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Things seemed _tense_ today,” he said. “Now you are accusing him of being a spy? What happened?”

“I told you,” Z shrugged, sounding too nonchalant. “He wanted to exchange names, I didn’t. Now he’s getting his revenge. Or whatever he wants.”

“Why didn’t you want to exchange names?”

Z went quiet, eyes still set on the horizon. He took a deep breath. “He was one of the first people I met when I joined the Surge,” he started. “He was raised in this life. And he was so confident, so sure of himself. He made something as complicated as a revolution feel simple. He brought me in, showed me the ropes, and in the process, we…” Z took a deep breath. Thinking for a long moment. “It was always one of those things that made sense on paper,” he said. “It was convenient. Enough. Until it wasn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

Z’s face went tight, uneasy. “It’s just not what I want anymore,” he breathed.

Blue watched him, carefully choosing his words. “What do you want?” he asked softly.

Z looked down into his hands, that uneasiness only heightening more. Looking uncomfortable in his own skin. “The Dust can be a lonely place.”

“But you have King, Dandy-” 

“Blue,” he looked over. “You know what I mean.”

Blue went silent. Because he did know. He knew loneliness. He knew silence. He knew how overwhelming the nothingness could get out in the Dust. How the endless sand and endless sky could make him feel so empty sometimes. Like nothing, no one could ever truly fill it. Maybe that was why books were always a comfort to him, voices and characters to fill up the space.

Z shook his head, “I don’t want to give my name to someone just so I don’t feel so alone out here. That’s not a good enough reason.”

Blue felt himself speak softer, closer, “What is a good enough reason then?”

Z looked pensive, biting at his lips. “I’m not sure,” he murmured. “All I know is that it needs to be real. And it wouldn’t be with Ars.”

Blue remembered the mart. When Z first opened up to him out of nowhere. How it had felt important in a way that he couldn’t justify, unable to fully appreciate it. Because at the time, he hadn’t known Z well enough to understand how significant it was. But this time, he did. And he wasn’t about to squander Z’s efforts again.

“I’m not a Surge,” Blue said carefully, thinking through his words. “I won’t pretend like I understand how much it means to you.”

Z looked over, eyes lighter with curiosity. 

“But. If it were me,” Blue suggested. “I would save it for someone who doesn’t just hold it over my head as an expectation. But someone who will truly treasure it.”

“Treasure it?”

Blue ran his fingers against the edges of the book in his hands. “From what I’ve seen, life as a Surge is hard. It’s grimy. Violent. Erratic. And although the cause is worth fighting for, it tarnishes all it touches in the process,” he said. “A Surge’s real name is the one thing that stays so close to them that the grime can’t touch it. And to give someone your name is to entrust them with the most precious, most pure thing you have. To hope that they’ll never tarnish it. Right?”

Z didn’t respond, just kept watching him.

Blue looked up at the sky. “So that no matter where they are, lost in a dust storm or looking down the barrel of a Crow’s pistol or keeping watch under the stars, they can take out this name, this gleaming, brilliant piece of you that was saved especially for them. And know that wherever you are, you are doing the same thing with theirs.”

Z brows were furrowed at nothing. And just as he looked like he was going to speak, he didn’t. Instead, he looked away, shoulders trembling as if a gust of night chill had just blown across them, but it hadn’t.

“Are you cold?” Blue asked.

Z wiped at his nose, pulling his jacket around him a little tighter, “Maybe.”

“Get under here,” Blue extended his arm, offering him a space inside the blanket.

Z was still for a moment before he carefully scooted himself closer, slipping under Blue’s arm. Letting his head fall against Blue’s shoulder.

Blue smiled. Feeling his warmth permeate through him, making everything better. “You know,” he said softly. “It’s kind of difficult with you sometimes.”

“I know,” Z admitted. “I’m not good at finding words.”

“No, I think you can find them,” Blue leaned his cheek into Z’s red hair. “But speaking them is totally different.” He put his hand to Z’s hip, pulling him closer until their sides were joined. “Sometimes, it seems like you are trying so hard not to make a mistake that you’re paralyzed by it.”

“That’s cause I am,” Z murmured.

Blue sighed. He reached under the blanket, taking Z’s chin in his hand and raising it upwards to meet his eyes. Holding his face closely and watching his expression go dazed. He smiled gently, “You don’t have to be that way with me, you know.”

Z’s eyes sparkled back, reflecting the stars above. “No,” he grumbled, pulling away from Blue’s grip and settling his cheek onto Blue’s shoulder again. “I _especially_ have to be that way with you.”

“And why’s that?”

Z wrapped himself up tighter in the blanket, looking off into the distance. Not giving his answer.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Blue,” he groaned, looking up at him. “I’m supposed to be keeping watch.”

“And?”

“And you’re distracting me.”

Blue looked at him, disappointment sinking low and fast into the pit of his stomach. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll leave you to it then.” He let the blanket fall from his shoulder, moving to get up.

But before he could, an arm snaked around him, pulling him back down. Z stared back at him, fingers tightening in the dip of his waist. His eyes skimming down Blue’s face, settling onto his mouth.

Blue felt it like a wave, crashing down over him with equal parts wonder and realization. Realization that even in Z’s seemingly apathetic push and pull, he wanted him here. He wanted him. And that was enough to have Blue rushing in, pressing their lips together. Relishing how Z’s perfect mouth met the shape of his, empty space vanishing as they pushed further. Got closer. Quivering as Z’s hands smoothing down the curve of his waist, long fingers curling around his hips. Blue opened up the kiss, Z’s tongue dragging against his own. Reaching up to clutch his neck, keep him pulled close as they tipped over. Hovering over Z’s frame with mouths staying sealed. 

Z’s hands clutched around Blue’s hips, feeling up his frame as he dragged his shirt higher. Fingers gingerly swirling at the skin around his hip bones.

Blue pulled away, looking down at him. “Am I still distracting you?” he said, smile spreading across his face as his fingers combed away Z’s red hair.

He stared back, eyes sparkling again. “Yes,” he whispered breathlessly, leaning up to shrug off his jacket.

Blue reached behind his back, pulling his shirt and scarf over his head and feeling the cool wind glide across his shoulder blades. He tossed them to the side, fisting a handful of Z’s white tank in his hands and pulling him up. 

Z didn’t fight it, sitting up and pulling his tank off. Bare arms folding behind Blue’s head to kiss him as he fell onto his back again.

Blue’s hands explored his body. Up his thighs, pushing down against his hard cock and feeling the bite of metal teeth against his palm. He looked down, seeing the open fly of Z’s pants that had been covered by his tank. Blue looked back up into his face, quirking a brow. “I thought you were supposed to be keeping watch up here?” he asked, toying at the open button.

“Well, I can obviously multi-task,” he taunted. He gripped onto the sides of his jeans, pushing them down his tight hips. “Can you, Baby Blue?”

Blue watched the pretty tan of his skin become one long pane, mouth watering at the sight as he remembered in a flash every devastating detail of the last time he’d seen it. He dared to skate his fingers over his chest, stomach, tracing the darkened mole on his chest, the black ink shapes just under his skin. All the way down to Z’s heavy cock that lay against his stomach. Paying it little mind as his fingers then reached back, Z’s legs parting eagerly. He touched the man’s entrance, immediately pulling back glistening fingers in the low light. He rubbed his fingertips together, feeling the memorable slip of lubricant. Confused for a moment, before his eyes widened on Z’s face. “Did you-” he breathed. “Did you want me?”

Z swallowed, a pale cast of self-consciousness coming over his handsome features. “Maybe.”

Blue looked up into his eyes, trying his best to trace his emotions, but it proved so much more difficult than his body. “You should have just told me.”

Z looked guilty. He shook his head. “Not that easy.”

“Yes, it is,” he urged. “Here. Practice with me.”

“Blue,” Z rolled his eyes.

He leaned down again, kissing carefully at Z’s mouth and feeling a little bit of his tightness relax. “Z,” he whispered, making it sound equal parts firm and tender. “I want you.” He kissed him again, pulling back just enough to see his face.

Z wasn’t smiling. His mouth was small, brows creasing in the middle. Thinking. The night beyond them settling to a halt. The dusty wind and the brush of vegetation and the buzz of lingering bugs going dead quiet. Listening.

Z pressed his lips into a thin line. Voice choked up in his throat. “I want you, too.”

Blue smiled, cheeks going so high that he could see them in his eyeline. “Was that so hard?” he laughed.

Z didn’t answer, instead he let his fingers brush up against the hard line in Blue’s pants. Smiling only when Blue gave a weak little tremble at his touch. “ _You’re_ so hard,” he grinned. “So make yourself useful and finish me off.”

Blue felt electrified, sitting up and undoing his pants with lightning speed. His hands clamoring for Z’s hips and dragging him closer. Settling between his open legs. “Are you sure you’re still open enough?” Blue asked with a touch of concern. “Cause I can-”

“Blue,” Z groaned. “Just get inside me.”

“Right,” Blue nodded, feeling a flush in his cheeks before he lined up against Z’s entrance and thrust into him. Feeling how wet he had made himself and how he was stretched, just enough for Blue to sit inside of him and feel the lovely pulse of his walls squeeze around him.

“God,” Z clenched down, hands gripping into Blue’s shoulders. “That’s good.”

Blue couldn’t mouth the words to agree, just nod as he started to work his hips into him. Starting slow at first, experimental as he tried to figure out the best angle, the smoothest feel. But once he found it, it was unquestionably good. Not able to stop himself from picking up the pace.

And from up here, Blue could see Z in a totally different light than at the motel. No heavy shadow of darkness across his face, but instead that starlight exposing every deepest facet of his features. Complimenting everything about him. Watching him hiss and arch with every motion, feeling his hands grip into Blue’s shoulders, clawing at him with his own unique brand of heady want. 

Blue knew he was hopeless and eager and not going to last long. Body not yet used to being made to feel so good. Still trying to wrap his head around the intense feeling of his body working up. The way everything would go so impossibly tight, nearly pained. The precarious balance between wanting to keep going and wanting release that had him going harder, deeper. Feeling Z’s hips lift to meet his own, entranced by the sight like he was some beautiful sparkling thing that Blue couldn’t peel his eyes from. He looked so careless in how emotive he was, lacking all of that restraint he always carried so firmly like a shield to block out the world.

“Fuck,” Z gasped, nails raking across his shoulderblades. “How can you stand it?”

“I can’t,” Blue breathed through a heaving chest. Wanting his skin cells under Z’s nails. Wanting to get under Z’s skin the same way he’d gotten under his.

Z pulled him down, kissing him again. Fierceness in the scrape of his teeth against Blue’s lips. “I want you all the time,” he murmured. “All the goddamn time.”

Blue moaned, hands gripping hard into Z’s hips. Caught up in his words, his voice, his kiss. Tension running so high, so hot, that he couldn’t do anything but offer himself to it. Letting it flay him open and look inside as his knuckles went white, his heart shuddered in his chest, his lungs lost their breath, his eyes screwed shut, coming harder than he ever have imagined he could.

His hands fell flat against the roof, bracing himself up as he tried to breathe. Opening his eyes to watch Z’s gaze still heavy on his face, his body still squirming underneath him, his cock still leaking against his skin. Absent of his own urgent need for release.

Blue leaned down, teeth finding a soft spot in Z’s neck and biting down. Hearing his stifled moan and feeling the way his body kicked up, slick cock meeting Blue’s stomach. Blue fought through the buzz as he moved his hips again, thrusting into Z and letting the friction between their skin slip around him, just enough to have Z whining, twisting for more.

Z’s nails stayed sharp on Blue’s back as he quickened the pace, feeling the pulse of Z’s cock against his stomach like it was his own heartbeat getting louder and louder. He bit down a little harder, hearing the sound it elicited from Z. Encouraging him to keep going.

“Blue,” Z choked out. And it was like he was trying to speak but he couldn’t get the words out. The sounds getting caught up in his throat, jumbled and messy and devolving into frantic moans as Blue felt the slickness between their skin ooze warmer, wetter. He worked Z through it, feeling those hands against his shoulder blades gripping with bruising strengthen. And even when Z’s body went still, it didn’t unclench, didn’t collapse back onto the roof. It stayed tight, hard.

Blue pulled away, looking down at him and seeing that tightness mirrored in the shaky breaths in his nose, the creasing of his brows, the taut purse of his lips. And his eyes. His eyes looked so full of thought, uneasy thought, as they painted across Blue’s features. And Blue was stuck trying to piece together what was wrong. Until Z spoke.

“Emerson,” he blurted out. Fingers still clawed into Blue’s shoulder blades.

“What?” Blue blinked.

“Emerson,” he swallowed. “That’s my name.” 

Blue looked at him, “Are we doing this right-” 

“I want you to know it,” Z said with conviction, hands smoothing up Blue’s shoulders, holding his neck, keeping his face close. “I want to give it to you.”

It wasn’t Blue’s custom, his culture. So why did he feel so nervous? Why did he suddenly feel everything coming down to this? The deeper he breathed, the more he came down off the high, the shock. Realizing that this wasn’t just playful banter talking. Nor was it the voice of their heady magnetism. It was Z. Laid so bare in the starlight in a way that Blue had never seen. That no one had ever seen. Exposing a part of himself that he held so close, that meant so much to him. And only showing it to Blue. Only giving it to Blue.

“Tell me, Baby Blue,” Z reached up, fingers sweeping across his cheekbone. Curling around his jaw with such fondness, gentleness. Mimicked in his voice, “Tell me yours.” 

It was nonsensical. It had been days you could count on your hands. Kisses you could quantify. But it didn’t feel like that at all. It felt like Blue had known Z for a million years. Reading him like a character in a book, just the right amount of understanding to admire his actions alongside a fair dose of intrigue to keep him eagerly turning pages. And wrapped up in his arms, Blue felt safe in a way he had never felt in a long time. Z’s touch eliciting all those same feelings that Blue had only read about, dreamed about for so long. And it all made him realize that this wasn’t a collision at all. This was a cohesion. This was lov-

“Shadow,” he breathed.

“Shadow?” Z questioned, brows coming together. Something in his eyes sparking.

And just hearing Z say it, even with a question in his tone made Blue feel warm all over. “Yeah,” he smiled with a gentle little laugh under his breath. “That’s my name.” 

Z swallowed, looking over Blue’s features, sweeping his dark hair from his eyes like he was trying to get a better look. “Not a common name,” he murmured.

Blue huffed, “And Emerson is?” 

Z went a little firmer, meeting his eyes. “It was a family name.” 

“Well, no wonder you swore allegiance to the first cause that let you change it,” he giggled.

“You’re so stupid,” Z rolled his eyes, sitting himself up and reaching for his pants, starting to getting dressed. 

Blue watched him piece himself together, reaching for the forgotten blanket and pulling it tightly around his naked body. “So that’s it,” he said. “We… we are…” Blue didn’t know what to call it.

“Yeah,” Z said simply, looking back at him. “That’s it.” 

Blue felt his chest shudder, overwhelmed with so many emotions that he didn’t know how to begin expressing. So many questions that he wanted answered.

“Get some sleep,” Z said, pulling his red leather jacket on and settling back into his seat. “We ride out when the sun comes up.” 

“Together?” Blue asked, eyes going wide. “But shouldn’t we stop? The Surge rule says-” 

“I know what the rules say,” Z said firmly. Lips pressing together, brows pulled tight. Shoulders falling on an exhale, “But I want you to ride with me, Blue.”

He felt his heart swell. He wanted to cry. Because that’s what he wanted too. He crawled up into Z’s lap, kissing his lips again for a long moment, leaning foreheads together and speaking up against his mouth. “Can I sleep up here?” he whispered, kissing him again. “With you?”

Z nodded. “I’d like that.”

Blue settled his head into Z’s lap, feeling the warmth of his body protecting him from the night chill. And as he fell asleep, there was only one word on his mind. One name.

_Emerson._

\---

As they rode to the Surge meeting, the radio stayed on in the background. And just like Z had promised, there was no grungy punk music raging through the car speakers. Only the persistent static that kept all of them from saying anything. The car itself felt heavy, tense, as if perhaps they were all awaiting the impending reveal. Knowing exactly how much weight it would carry without knowing its implications.

Blue looked over, admiring the downturn of Z’s brows, his mouth. Such a pretty profile even when he was grimacing, mind off somewhere thinking, occupied. Probably worrying. Blue momentarily wished that King and Dandy weren’t in the car, that he could pull them over and kiss him until he couldn’t worry anymore.

When they arrived, it was hard to even see the building. Much like the party, the entire area was swarmed with cars and bikes with Surge filtering inside. Blue got out slamming the door and trying to weave his head through the crowd to look. It was a tiny chapel. Chipping white paint, boarded up windows. The iron cross at the top of the red clay, Spanish tiled steeple that permanently seemed bent in one direction.

Blue felt a heavy weight collapsing against his back. He turned into it, feeling arms tightening around his middle. “King,” he whined, trying to push the android’s shoulders. “What are you doing?”

King wasn’t deterred, hugging him even tighter. “I love you so much,” he said, muffled into Blue’s scarf.

Blue looked over at Dandy and Z over the roof of the car, watching them stare back with confusion blanking their expressions. “Hey,” Blue whispered into King’s ear. “You’re causing a scene.”

The android laughed pulling away and smiling back at Blue. His silver eyes scanning over his face, fingers coming up to poke into his cheek. “This dimple,” he breathed. “It’s so perfect.”

“You already told me that,” Blue smiled, rolling his eyes.

“I know,” King shrugged. “But I just…” he sighed, grinning euphorically.

“Can we focus?” Dandy asked, leaning over the roof of the car. “What’s the goal here, Z?”

Blue looked over, watching Z pull his eyes away from King and him, taking a deep breath. “To get people on our side,” he said, adjusting his jacket. “To get them to agree to help find and protect him.”

“It won’t be easy,” King smiled, slinging an arm around Blue’s shoulders.

“No,” Z murmured, looking over at the chapel. “But it’s the only way.”

When they all walked in, the room was so dark that Blue’s eyes had to adjust. Stained glass windows with motifs of weeping martyrs darkened by the wood boards that had been nailed behind them, just a few pockets of sunlight peeking through loose spots in the roof. It was stifling hot, thick with the humid body heat of the dense crowd whose chatter felt not so different from that static on the radio. The pews were so dilapidated that most stood, gathering themselves around the space towards the altar, against the walls, encircling the room.

Blue felt someone grab his hand, looking over and seeing Z leaning in close to his ear.

“You should stand with King in the back,” he said, speaking low so no one could hear.

Blue’s eyebrows drew together in confusion, “But I want to stand with you.”

“I know you do,” Z said, smiling slowly as he toyed with Blue’s fingers absentmindedly. “Which is why we should probably stand apart.”

Blue understood well enough what he was saying. That Z didn’t want to raise any suspicions about what they’d done the night before. And part of him found it overly paranoid, knowing that these people couldn’t see it on them. But if they had to stand apart so that they could keep riding together, it seemed like a simple trade off. 

“Stop pouting,” Z’s smile widened, a breathy little laugh from his chest. He squeezed Blue’s hand. “I’ll see you afterwards, okay?” 

Blue felt the smile pull at his mouth, mirroring Z’s. “Okay,” he nodded, watching Z cross the room towards the front. His eyeline moving just enough to catch Ars staring back from his place in a pew at the front of the room, seated next to an oblivious Def. The unrelenting hardness in his blank expression making Blue’s stomach churn, suddenly very aware of exactly what Z’s paranoia felt like.

“Come on,” King smiled, grabbing his arm and tugging him. “Magpie is here.”

Blue squeezed in beside King along the wall, watching as an older woman came in through the front. Her silver hair dreaded down her back and her skin beautifully sun-worn. A younger Surge helped her down the aisle as the room took notice, starting to fall silent as they willingly parted for her.

“Who’s Magpie?” Blue whispered, leaning into King’s side.

“She’s the oldest living Surge,” King said. “She’ll preside over the meeting.”

Blue looked back at the android, eyes widening, “Is she who Z is trying to convince?”

“Her opinion carries weight,” King shrugged. “But the Surge are still a democracy. He still needs the majority to get them to act.”

Blue looked back over to Magpie, watching her take a seat at the front of the room. The chatter that had just been everywhere suddenly nonexistent as everyone waited for her to start.

“The radio is static,” she said, rough voice sounding resolute. “We know what that means. Let’s open the floor to those who would like to step forward.” 

The room stayed quiet, still. Everyone’s eyes subtly moving around, wondering who might be first. Blue’s gaze fell to Z, watching his lip between his teeth, his arms crossed over his chest. Looking more nervous than Blue had ever seen.

Ars cleared his throat, staying seated as he beckoned his head. “I think Z has some news.”

Magpie looked over, raising a brow, “Do you, Z?”

Z met her eyes, chest going wider with a breath like he was trying to settle himself in his place. “I do,” he nodded.

“Then the floor is yours,” she said, offering it with her hand. 

Z was still for a moment before he took a step forward. He looked around the chapel at the sea of faces staring back. “My squad has recently come upon two confirmed sources from Lark Industries,” he said, making his voice loud enough for the room to hear. “Both of them stating that Night Lark is dead.”

The room fell to murmured chatter, heads turning and eyes widening. Someone from the crowd spoke up above the rest, “That can’t be right.”

Z sighed. “Ars and Def will back me up on this,” he said, looking to them.

“We can confirm,” Ars said, sounding just as apathetic as he always did.

Def nodded, “We received the same intel.”

“We can state with confidence why the Crows have been swarming,” Z said. “They are looking for Lark’s children. His heirs who are next in line to run the company.”

“Who is sending them?” someone spoke up, prompting more murmurings from the crowd of potential theories and guesses.

“They are led by a man named Titanic,” he said a little louder to settle them down. “He was Night Lark’s protege for years. And now, he's next in line for the head of the company if the heirs can’t take over. He knows this. So he’s trying to have the heirs found and killed so that he can ascend. And this man... “ Z swallowed. “If he comes into power, it’s going to be bad news for Nova City and even worse news for the Dust.”

“They’ve been missing for eighteen years,” someone scoffed. “What makes this Titanic guy so sure he can find them?”

“He already is,” Z urged, growing emphatic. “Both daughters have been classified as dead. The only one who remains missing is Lark’s son. Therefore, I am proposing today that I lead the effort to find him first.” 

“And when you do?” called a man standing next to Blue. 

Z looked up towards the man. “When we do,” he said, eyes shifting to lock onto Blue’s. “We protect him.”

Blue felt the small smile across his face, feeling overwhelming pride. Treasuring the small way Z mirrored it with his own smile. Like just the sight of Blue was enough to reassure him.

“Have you located him yet, Z?” Magpie asked, a quizzical look in her hazy eyes.

Z’s gaze went to her, staring for a hard moment, smile fallen. “No, ma’am,” he said, softly. “Not yet.”

“Bullshit,” Ars scoffed, just under his breath.

Z looked towards the DJ sitting in the pew, brows furrowing, “What was that, Ars?”

“I said this is bullshit,” Ars shrugged. He looked around the room, lazily addressing the crowd. “Let Titanic kill the guy. We don’t need any more Lark scum to go up against. It’s counterintuitive.”

Z’s scowl turned fiery, jaw tightly set. “You don’t know who this person is,” Z argued, voice sharp. “He’s been in the Dust for the majority of his life. He doesn’t even know about the city, about Lark Industries.”

“How would you know?” Ars asked, a cocky raise of his brow.

From Blue’s side, King took a step forward. “He’s not like his father,” he said, hands firsting at his side. “He’s-”

“I don’t want to hear it from you, King,” Ars stopped him, waving a dismissive hand towards the android. “You’re too close to this situation to be impartial.”

King fell silent, hands fisting even tighter.

Blue grabbed his wrist, pulling him back towards the wall. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “Z has this.”

Ars’ gaze went back to Z, awaiting his response.

The man bit into his cheek, anger rising just under the surface. “I’m just speculating,” he said, like he was trying to keep his cool. “For all we know, this son could be _completely_ different from his father. Who knows? He could be on _our_ side.”

Ars scoffed, rolling his eyes, “He’s _not,_ Z. He’s exactly what we’ve been fighting against for generations.”

The room went wild again with whispered opinions and Blue saw Z fall quiet, retort not quick enough as Ars stood up from his seat, turning to address the group. “Spending all our efforts looking for this person is a waste of our time,” he assured them. “If the Crows are focusing all of their attention here, it means they are leaving Nova City vulnerable and leaderless. It means we should follow through with the plan we’ve been preparing for _years._ We should stage an attack on the city.”

The room took another shift, more dramatically this time. Those murmurs growing louder, unsettlingly so.

“They do have a leader, Ars,” Z spoke over the noise. “Titanic-”

“I think,” Ars cut him off. “You are giving this Titanic guy _way_ too much credit.”

King came forward again. “You don’t know him, Ars,” King said firmly. “He’s a monster.”

Ars looked back at the android, an arrogant little smirk on his face. “You’re right,” he shrugged. “I don’t know the guy.” He looked back towards Z, “But I _do_ know our little Z here. And I know _exactly_ what he’s been up to.”

The crowd that had been lively with discourse, suddenly fell silent, eerily so. Even Magpie looking to Z with her speculative eyes.

Z’s face went even tighter, eyes narrowing as he gritted out his words through his teeth, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Ars’ head tilted, sinister smirk spreading wider, “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

Z’s whole face softened. “Ars,” he stepped closer, speaking lower. “I don’t know what you think you know. But-”

“You’ve been traveling with someone new,” the man said, loudly announcing it to the whole room. “And I have it on good authority that you two have exchanged names.”

Blue’s eyes widened, face immediately burning hot, feverish. 

“And you know the rules better than anyone,” Ars said, growing more serious. “Surge don’t have many rules but you are breaking one of the most vital. You’re riding with someone you’ve exchanged names with.”

Z looked taken aback, stunned. Like maybe that hadn’t been what he’d assumed Ars would say. He shook his head, “That’s not-” 

“That’s not what, Z?” Ars said, raising a brow.

Blue felt the panic flood every thought, every nerve, sinking so deeply into that wall as his chest heaved, trying to breath. Gripping harder onto King’s wrist like it was a lifeline though the android seemed too wrapped up in the back-and-forth to notice.

Z went silent, mouth falling open, hesitating. “He’s not a Surge,” he stammered out, struggling to keep his voice from trembling. “The rule doesn’t apply.” 

“But you _are_ a Surge,” Ars argued, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter who the companion is. So,” he took a step closer, toe to toe with Z now. “Did you exchange names or not, Z?”

Z looked at him, conflict playing out across his face. Drawing his brows together, making his eyes nearly plead for this to stop. But the room was awaiting his answer. Quiet and eager like a hungry wolfpack.

Blue wanted to scream, the silence feeling suffocating. The look on Z’s face tearing his chest wide open. Because he knew that what Z had done last night hadn’t been easy. It had taken trust, effort, courage. And Ars was now using it against him like it was some sort of crime. Like it was something to be shameful of.

Ars smiled, taking far too much pride in this. “King, are you listening?” he called, not tearing his eyes away from Z. “Tell me if he’s lying.”

“Z,” King sighed, shoulders falling. “Just say it.”

Z looked around the room, like he was suddenly very aware of all the eyes on him. His face petrified. Mouth slowly opening.

The front doors of the chapel suddenly busted open. Everyone’s eyes shifting towards the two Surge members standing in the doorway. 

“Crows!” one of them called out. “Coming from the west!”

“Too many to count,” the other shook their head, before anyone could ask.

Blue didn’t feel the anxiety go any higher or lower, just changing, evolving into something different. Another threat making itself known. He felt the quiet hostility of the room shift with it, voices going louder and Surge nearly crawling over each other to get closer to the ones they knew. The crowd was moving like something liquid, pushing him around in the current. 

He felt King’s fingers grab onto his wrist. “Come on,” the android said, tugging him along. 

The breaths in Blue’s chest went wild, unsure of what to do, but nevertheless, following closely behind King as he crossed the room towards Z.

“Do we run?” Z was asking Magpie, zoning out the chaos of the scattering room.

She looked pensive, eyes skirting over the crowd. “Surge don’t scurry off into their holes,” she said, firmly. “Not like you had them doing at that party. I heard about that, Z.”

“Magpie,” he sighed. “Everyone was-”

“We will stand,” she said with ultimate authority. “And we will fight.”

Z stopped himself, nodding in agreement. “I can organize them.”

“Can you?” Ars asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Z narrowed his eyes, “Who else would do it?”

“There are plenty of other options.”

“Like you?”

“Z,” Magpie cut through their row. “Organize. Give orders.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded, turning and spotting Blue, coming closer.

Blue felt the desire to reach out, but he contained it. “What do we do?” he asked, feeling frenzied.

Z looked at him steadily for a long moment. “King,” he said, turning towards the android. “Take him up onto the roof.”

“The roof?” Blue questioned, furrowing his brows.

“Pick off as many as you can from above,” Z commanded.

King nodded, starting to turn away.

“Wait,” Blue stopped. “Where are you going?”

Z let out a long exhale, coming closer and grabbing Blue’s arms. “I need to be the first defense,” he urged. “I need to be on the front line.”

Blue’s stomach flipped, going nauseous immediately. “Z. Please,” he begged. “Let the others go first. You’re too valuable.”

“You know I can’t do that,” he shook his head. “Especially not now. When I’m counting on their vote.” 

Blue’s heart squeezed in his chest. Feeling the tightness of his face mirroring that firm grip his emotions had, making it hard to breath.

Z’s grip on his arms went looser, sliding down towards his hands. “If I fall, don't come to me,” he said, speaking low enough to not be heard. “Just stay with King. He’ll keep you safe. Okay? Promise?” 

“Z,” Blue breathed.

“Shadow,” Z whispered more intently, like he was trying to garner all of Blue’s attention. Trying to focus him. He smiled softly, gripping his hands tighter. “Promise?” 

Blue held onto that look in his eyes, that smile across his mouth. Burying the memory of it exactly where he knew he could always find it. He nodded, “Promise.”

“Now, go,” Z urged.

“Come on, Blue,” King said, taking his hand and starting to drag him away.

And Blue tried to look back at Z, but his back was already turned, giving orders to the next set of Surge. 

King led him out the chapel doors, where everyone was now filtering out, going towards their cars and into their trunks. Suiting up with boldly painted helmets, masks, guns, vests. King came upon Z’s car, opening the trunk up and grabbing a long case. Hosting it over his shoulder with ease and slamming the trunk. “Follow me,” he told Blue, making his way over to the side of the chapel.

Blue’s eyes went up, seeing the height of the building, the ledge that connected the Spanish tile roof to the battered wood sides, seemingly ten feet in the air. “How do we-”

“Take this,” King said, handing him the case.

Blue took the handle, surprised when King let go and it was twice as heavy as he’d made it seem.

King jumped up, hands and feet finding the slight depressions in the wood and climbing up to the roof. Grabbing onto the ledge and hoisting himself up with ease. “Now,” he said. “Hand me the kit.”

Blue looked down at the case, trying to lift it above his head, high enough for King to reach it.

He did, using one arm to push it up the roof. “Now you,” he said, reaching his hand downward.

It was still considerably higher than Blue’s head. He looked up at it with fierce determination. He backed up, letting himself get a small start before jumping as high as he could. Reaching up and feeling for King’s hand. 

The android’s fingers closed around his wrist, pulling him up with no issue. The roof tiles were hot from the midday sun, burning against Blue’s hands as he tried to stand on his feet. But the incline of the slanted roof was so steep that he felt himself falling backwards, about to topple when King grabbed his shirt, steadying him.

“Be careful,” King said. “Come on.” He crawled up to the peak of the angled roof, laying down on his stomach and looking over the edge. “Fuck,” he groaned.

Blue crawled up alongside him, head peeking over the edge and seeing the long line of cars that seemed never ending. Leaving clouds of dust in their wake as they sped closer. “What do we do?” he asked, trying to breathe.

“We kill them,” King said with a sarcastic smile. “Before they can kill us.” He pulled out a canteen, twisting off the cap to take a sip. 

“There’s way too many,” Blue shook his head.

“Then let’s make less of them,” King said, wiping his mouth and reaching over to the kit, tossing it open. He pulled out two long sniper rifles, handing one of them to Blue.

He took it in his hands, eyes widening as looked over it. “I don’t know-”

“You can do it,” King urged. “Just make sure you are aiming at the right people.”

Blue looked up, seeing the line of cars coming to a stop. He held his breath as he watched the doors open, the Crows stepping out. Their black masks obscuring their features and their black tactical wear looking even more menacing with this many of them. They all lined up next to each other.

Blue looked down to the area that stretched outside the chapel, seeing the wave of Surge filling the spaces between their cars. Flowing outwards like a spill. Dots of bright colors that were totally dissimilar. But only containing about half as many fighters.

“We’re screwed,” Blue exhaled in horror.

“Don’t give up on us so easily,” King said, laying the barrel of his sniper rifle across the peak of the roof. “What do you say?” he smiled. “Should I take the first shot?”

“King,” Blue widened his eyes. “This is serious.”

“You’re right,” King shrugged. “I should make haste,” he pulled the trigger. Sending a laser straight through the air. It landed a blow right at the center of a Crow’s chest, knocking him to the ground.

“King!” Blue yelled. 

But sooner than he could think, he saw the Surge start to run. Screaming out a battle cry as they came closer to the line of Crows. Laser fire on both sides going off in a flurry of light and sound. Bodies sporadically falling away.

King kept aiming, picking off Crows’ one by one. Too fast for even Blue’s eyes to catch. “I’m at six,” he said. “You better start shooting if you want to catch up.”

“I hate this,” Blue said, trying to hold the unfamiliar gun between his hands. Trying to remember anything he’d ever read about shooting. Trying to remember Z’s words in his ears.

_Don’t close your eyes._

Blue let his scope fall on a certain Crow, watching him going gun to gun with a green haired Surge member who was standing on top of a car.

_When you’re ready, take a deep breath and fire._

Blue felt for the gun’s trigger, letting it jolt him slightly as he watched the Crow fall to the ground. And the feeling it conjured was confusing. Crushing realism at what he’d just done coupled with a sudden rush of elation. But as he tried to process it, he remembered that Z and Dandy were down there, knowing he couldn’t let anything happen to them.

“Keep going!” King urged, firing off three consecutive rounds in a row.

Blue looked around, trying to find another Crow to set his scope on. He kept firing, kept finding. Getting bolder and bolder with each shot he landed. He looked down, watching a Crow aim point blank at a bright yellow head of hair.

“Dandy!” Blue shouted. “Quick!”

And with inhuman reflexes, King’s eyes went there, raising his gun and firing at the Crow. The soldier’s hand slipped, laser gun firing down to Dandy’s arm. Distantly hearing the kid cry out in pain.

Blue gasped, watching him fall to the ground, writhing at his injury. But before he could say something, he saw a flurry of red run towards the boy, pulling him up from the ground and leaning their sides together.

“Z,” Blue murmured, smile spreading across his face. Just happy to see he was okay. He watched him start to drag Dandy away, eyes catching on a black speck looming behind his back. He nearly panicked, quickly pulling up his gun and firing quickly. Watching the Crow fall to the sand.

Z’s head snapped back, looking at the Crow on the ground before raising his eyes up towards the roof. Smile breaking when he met Blue’s eyes.

Blue felt his heart thump wildly inside of his chest, unable to stop himself from smiling back.

Just then, a noise had both King and him turning their heads. A loud scraping noise coming from the other side of the chapel. Blue looked towards King, quirking a brow.

“Go check,” King said, beckoning towards it over his shoulder as his eyes refocused on the battlefield stretched out below them. Sending off a few more shots into the carnage.

Blue put his rifle down, carefully crawling over to the other side of the roof. Making sure not to lose his footing. He heard the scraping continue, leaning over the ledge and looking down. 

Two Crows were on the side of the building, slowly making their way up. Metal attachments on their gloves and boot tips helping them scrape across the old wood, rising higher and higher.

Blue hid himself immediately. Crawling back towards King with considerably faster movements across the tile. “Uhh,” his eyes went wide, unable to get the words out.

King looked over. “Shit,” he hissed, immediately reading it in his face.

“King?” Blue asked. “What do we do?”

The android put down his gun, picking up his canteen and taking a generous sip.

“King!” Blue barked. “We don’t have time for a water break.”

King pulled away, wincing. “Not water,” he coughed. But before Blue could ask what it was, the android came closer, dumping the contents of the canteen over Blue’s head.

“What the-” he pulled away, feeling the viscous liquid run down his hair, his face, into his eyes. And immediately, it stung like hell. Getting into his airways and burning. He tried to reach up, tried to brush it out of his face, his eyes. Choking and squinting and feeling his eyes well up with tears. In between blinks, he saw the Crows make it onto the roof. Coming closer and standing over him. 

“This is him,” he heard one say, voice fuzzy through the respirator of his mask.

“No,” the other said, pointing to King. “That’s the one we are looking for. The android.”

The two Crows stepped over him as he still struggled to breath, struggled to open his eyes. The pain so overwhelming, so debilitating. “No!” he called, trying to reach for them. “Don’t take him!” He grabbed onto the Crow’s ankle, nails gripping in.

“Damn it!” the Crow tried to pull away, but Blue’s grip was relentless.

The other Crow came over, sending a swift kick into the side of Blue’s head. The excruciating pain emanating through his skull, so much stronger than the stinging. Sending him rolling down the incline of the roof, off the ledge.

And in the second he was free falling, everything seemed to still. His eyes finally opening and spotting the light blue sky above. Not a cloud in sight. And the laser fire that had busied the background noise, suddenly felt miles away. Everything clear, quiet. For an overwhelmingly slow, purposeful moment.

Before it all went black.

\---

“Shadow,” she shook his shoulder. “Shadow, wake up.”

He jolted, sitting up in his chair. “Harmony?” he asked, rubbing his tired eyes as he looked over at her.

She laughed. “Come on, sleepy head,” she teased, smiling softly at him.

He blinked his eyes, everything around him feeling so irrationally bright. Like the sun was stationed right outside the car. He looked out the windows. The Dust around them stretching out for miles. But before them, stood a small wooden cabin.

“Where are we?” he asked, looking over at her.

She took a deep breath, looking out towards the cabin. “Home,” she said, firmly. She opened the driver’s side door, stepping out.

He followed her, looking more closely at the cabin. Seeing the dilapidated roof, the shattered windows. “Sure not the penthouse,” he remarked, looking around and not seeing another living thing in sight. “Sure not the Glass District.”

“It’s better than the Glass District,” she laughed, skipping up the steps.

“How do you figure?” he asked, following her. “There’s no people, no books, no Melody, no Titanic, no Mom and Dad, no-.”

“Hey,” she snapped, looking back at him. “Can you not?”

His shoulders fell. Glaring back at her. “When are you going to tell me what happened to them?” he asked, arms crossing over his small chest.

Harmony didn’t seem to listen, just kept walking in past the shredded screen door.

He followed behind her, coming into the cabin and looking around. The first floor was one big room. A living space with a dusty looking couch, a kitchen that still had dishes in the sink, a staircase leading up to the second floor.

Harmony fell back onto the couch. “The people at the gas station said the owners haven’t occupied this place for _decades_ ,” she said, like it was the best thing she ever heard.

“I can see why,” he sneered, eyeing it with heavy judgement.

“Don’t be an ungrateful little brat,” she scoffed. “We are going to fix this place up. We are going to fill it with as many books as I can find for you. We are going to survive out here.”

“But why?” he nearly yelled. “Why are we out here? Why did you take me away from the city? From everything and everyone?”

“Shadow,” she said, getting up and coming closer. She knelt down in front of him. “I told you. We weren’t safe there anymore.”

He felt his eyes sting, welling up with tears. “But Mom and Dad were there,” he sniffed. “They led the city. Everyone loved them. There was no one safer to be with than them.”

Harmony sighed, shaking her head. “Shadow,” she breathed. “You can’t understand right now. You’re too young to understand.”

“I don’t care!” he cried, tears dripping down his face. “I want to go home. I want to go home!” 

Harmony hugged him tightly, letting his head fall into her shoulder. Smoothing a hand down his back. “I know,” she said, like she really knew. “But I have to keep you safe. I have to keep you good. That’s what I promised Mom I would do.”

His eyes fluttered open, tears choking up in his throat as he lifted his head to meet her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

She just looked at him, something nervous in her face. “Here,” she said, pulling away. She rummaged through her leather satchel. “I have gifts for you.”

He sniffled, wiping at his face. “Gifts?”

“Tah-dah!” she cheered, pulling out a long strip of blue knitted fabric. The perfect shade of light blue, not so far off from the Dust sky.

“Mom’s scarf,” he smiled suddenly, reaching out to touch it. Remembering just how soft it was.

“Mmhm,” Harmony hummed. “Mom wanted me to save this just for you,” she said, laying it around his shoulders and tucking it around his chin. “Something warm and soft to remember her by.”

And just wearing it around his shoulders, it felt like his mother’s hugs. Safe and consistent and always there for him. His heart ached, missing her immediately.

“And,” his sister reached back into the bag, pulling out something else. “I have these.”

He looked down, spotting two white pills in her hand. Little L’s etched into their sides. “What are those?”

“They’re…” She hesitated for a moment. “Vitamins,” she smiled. “They will help you sleep tonight. And in the morning, everything will hurt a lot less.”

He looked up at her, seeing the insistence in her eyes. “You promise?”

She nodded. “I promise.” She reached into her bag, pulling out a bottle of water. “Take them.”

He took the pills from her hand, feeling like they were too big. Like he’d never be able to swallow them. He put them in his mouth, loading them onto the back of his tongue, sipping at the water and swallowing.

\---

“Blue!” he felt his shoulder shake, warm hand gripping his face. “Blue, wake up!”

Blue’s eyes blinked open, but immediately they were flooded, blurry. Looking up into the sky and seeing gray clouds overhead. Rain pouring down over him, slipping into hair, his clothes, weighing him heavier against the wet ground. He blinked again, looking up and seeing a haze of bright red above him.

“Can you hear me?” he heard, long fingers smoothing against his cool cheek.

And Blue had this feeling like he’d know those fingers, that voice, all that red anywhere. “Z,” he murmured, feeling just the sound itself bring a smile to his face.

“That’s right,” he breathed. “I’m here.”

Blue felt the sudden throb of his head, making him grimace. “Fuck,” he choked out, reaching up touch at the tender spot on the side of his head.

“What is it?” Z said, voice full of concern. “What hurts?”

“My head,” he groaned, trying to push himself up to sit.

“Woahwoahwoah,” Z pressed against his chest. “Not so fast. You took a pretty big fall there.”

“I’m fine,” Blue shook his head, just feeling that ache in his head throb harder like it might burst. He hissed, trying to fight through it. “It’s just a headache,” he assured. He sat himself up, looking around as he wiped the desert rain from his eyes. He saw Surge ambling around, some of them squatted next to injured fighters, tending to their wounds. But there were also bodies laid out flat across the ground and kneeled next to them were people with harsher expressions. The rain making it hard to tell where tears stopped and started.

“What happened?” Blue asked, looking up at Z. Noting the way the rain had soaked through his hair, his white tank. Seeing the little split in his lip where fresh blood stained his skin.

“They retreated,” Z said, but it wasn’t happy. Not at all.

“How many fell?”

Z shook his head. “A dozen or so,” he sighed. “We are still working on that part.”

“Dandy?” Blue asked, eyes going wide.

“He’s fine,” Z reassured. “A little battered, but he will heal.”

Blue’s memory suddenly sparked, remembering, “They took King.”

Z nodded slowly. “I know,” he said. “I saw them take him away.”

Blue felt the panic start to rise in him, “What are we going to do?”

“We will figure it out,” Z said. “I promise. After the meeting.”

“Z!” his eyes widened with outrage.

“Blue,” he sighed. “We have to finish the meeting. We have to vote. We can’t do anything until that happens.”

Blue looked up at him, seeing how serious he was. How scared he was. The course of action resting precariously on this moment in time, on this decision. And while Blue’s empathy struggled to see the bigger picture, his logic knew it to be true. 

He reached up, wrapping his arms around Z’s neck and pulling him closer. Hugging him tightly. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he whispered.

And Z didn’t pull away, wrapping his arms around his waist. “I’m glad you’re safe too,” he said softly. “Let’s get back inside.”

\---

“They must have known,” Z announced from where he stood, leaned up against the altar. Fingertip dragging against the blood dotting his lip. “They must have gotten tipped off to us being here.”

The room felt different now. A few less people in the room than before. A stench of sweat and blood and rain in the air. More people seated in the pews, exhausted from the fight. Not even bothering to whisper to each other. Dead silent except for the downpour against the Spanish tiles overhead.

Blue stood near the back of the room again, but King’s absence was now glaringly obvious. And in the moment he wished more than anything that the android was here next to him, if just to hold his hand through the tension.

“That’s not possible,” Ars said, shaking his head. “We cross the channels to make sure only Surge can find the location.” 

“Well _maybe_ , it was someone on the inside,” Z said, eyes casting towards Ars in the pew. “Someone who works with the radio.” 

Blue felt his spine stiffen, eyes shifting around the room. Seeing the way the crowd watched Z and Ars’ interaction play out with immediate wariness. And something about it felt foreboding in a way that made Blue feel sick. Like Z was walking himself straight into a trap that Blue couldn’t save him from.

Ars stared back, eyes cutting through Z as he raised an eyebrow, “And you’re looking at me because?”

“You think you’re so clever,” Z sneered, crossing his arms over his chest. Oblivious to the crowd around them, as if it was only him and Ars in the room. “Coming in here, trying to stir things up as if you aren’t spying for Titanic himself.”

And the silence went even more rigid, more deadly. Suffocating Blue where he stood.

“Oh,” Ars smirked, a huff of dark laugh in his chest. “Oh, that’s fascinating.”

Even Magpie looked on, eyes as steely as the roughened tone of her voice. “That is a serious accusation, Z,” she said. “Are you prepared to defend it?”

He nodded towards her, eyes and voice going softer, “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t believe it to be true, ma’am.”

Magpie’s lips thinned, looking back to the DJ. “What do you say, Ars?”

“I say he’s bold,” Ars huffed. “He’s bold to come in here, putting forth this big plan to save the Lark son. Not based in fact, I’ll remind you all, but based on some sort of blind optimism that an evil tyrant’s child will be _totally different_ from his father. All the while, he’s been breaking rules behind everyone’s back. Riding with a shiny who has a stake in this narrative he’s contriving and a non-Surge who is getting between him and the cause.”

“He’s not,” Z scowled, eyes full of fire. “Don’t try to-

“A dozen Surge are dead, Z!” Ars shouted. No snarky humor left in him. Only scorn. “Many more injured. One of your own nearly got his arm shot straight off,” he said, pointing a finger at Dandy, who sat towards the wall with a makeshift sling holding his arm up. His tattered shirt messy with laser char and dried blood. Boyish face uncharacteristically somber. “And the shiny in question? He was the only captive taken.” Ars looked to the crowd, narrowing his eyes, “Don’t you all think that’s just a little odd?”

Only then did murmurs start to spread through the crowd like a contagion. Sounding so frantic that they made Blue’s head feel like radio static he couldn’t tune out.

“So what?” Z scoffed, arms tightening over his chest. “You trying to turn this around? Insinuate that I’m some sort of traitor?”

Ars shook his head, “I wouldn’t go so far as to incriminate someone based on speculation. Especially when you’ve already more than incriminated yourself, Z.” He looked around the room. “Is this who we put our vote of confidence in?” he asked, pointing to Z. “A schemer? A secret keeper?”

“You don’t speak for them!” Z roared.

The murmurs went silent again, Z’s voice reverbing off the stained glass. Blue watched as the man’s chest heaved with wild, furious breaths. He’d never seen him like that. And it scared him to see Z turn so volatile under the intense pressure. So different from his restrained self.

Ars eyed Z, a sick, twisted amusement glittering in his eyes. And when he spoke, his voice was quieter, contrasting against Z’s outburst like it was what he intended. “You’re right. I don’t,” he shrugged. “So let’s have them vote.”

Magpie looked around the room, “Anyone else want to step forward with an alternate course of action? An objection?”

Everyone stayed still.

“Good,” she said. “Left side of the room is Z’s plan. Putting all our efforts into finding and protecting the Lark child. Right ride of the room is Ars’ plan. Ride for Nova City and execute the attack that’s been in preparation.”

Surge members started to move, taking to either side of the room to show where their vote lied. And Blue felt that parting of the crowd exposing him, trying to slip into a small cluster of people that was heading for the left side of the room.

“Him!” Ars shouted out and Blue looked towards him, meeting his razor-sharp glare. “Get him out of here,” he commanded firmly with an accusatory point of his finger. “He’s not a Surge. He doesn’t get a vote.”

Blue felt the cluster shift towards him, two strong Surge members hovering over him suddenly. They grabbed his arms, starting to drag him. “Stop,” he said, trying to slip away. “Get your-” But it felt useless to fight against it as they kept tugging him. They opened the front entrance, pushing him down onto the doorstep of the chapel and shutting the doors behind him.

Blue looked up at the chapel, smoothing his wet hair away from his face. He wanted to get up, to scream, to kick down the doors and run into Z’s arms. But he couldn’t. Ars was right. He wasn’t a Surge. His voice didn’t matter. He didn’t matter.

His ears perked to a sound behind him, faint and soft under the song of the rain. He pushed himself up, brushing off his clothes as he followed closer to it. He weaved through the many cars surrounding the chapel, the remnants of the battle left behind. Char marks in the dust from laser fire washing away with the rain, spills of browning, diluted blood pooled in abstract shapes, Crow bodies looking even blacker, soaked to their cold skin. He carefully maneuvered around them until he came up upon a white van. The radio van. He rounded the corner of it, spotting Def.

The man was crouched along the side, head in his hands as he sobbed. Shoulders shaking as he weeped.

“Def,” Blue soothed softly, kneeling down to touch his shoulder.

The DJ’s head snapped towards him. His eyes were wide, swollen, dark hair messy, clothes soaked, cheeks glistening and red. “Blue,” he breathed. “He’s. He’s-”

And Blue’s stomach sank. Knowing exactly who he was talking about. “I’m sorry, Def,” he whispered. He shook his head, “I should have done something. I should have acted faster.”

“Blue,” Def breathed again, reaching out to grab his shoulders. “Please,” he begged. Something crazed in his eyes. “Please listen to me.”

He stared back at him, not understanding his sudden intensity. “What is it?”

Def sniffed, wiping his nose against his hand. “You can’t trust him,” he said, voice shaking. “You hear me? If you think you know him, you don’t.”

Blue blinked, eyebrows going tight. “Who are you-”

“He will lie to you,” Def said, jostling Blue’s shoulders. “He will step on you to get where he is going.”

“Def,” Blue whispered. “Calm down. Let’s talk about this.”

“I don’t _want_ to talk anymore,” Def bit out. “I don’t want to be here anymore,” he said, eyes watering all over again. “I can’t do this. I can’t be here.” He pulled away from Blue, getting up and starting to walk up to the front of the van. Pulling the driver’s door open.

“Def, wait,” Blue said, scrambling towards him and grabbing onto his wrist. “You can’t just leave. The Surge _need_ you.”

“But I don’t need them. I need _him_ ,” he urged, looking back with tears breaking down his cheeks, mixing with the rain. “If King’s not here, none of this becomes worth it. So, let me go,” he said, trying to pull out of Blue’s grip.

“We will help you,” Blue said, holding him firmly. “Z will find a way to get him back. I know he will. I-”

Def reached into his holster, pulling the laser gun out and pointing it straight into Blue’s face. The tears in his eyes halting, eyes going stale. “Let me go, Blue,” he bit out.

Blue felt the static panic rush through him again, looking down the barrel and seeing Def at the end of it. He took a deep breath. “You wouldn’t hurt me,” he said softly. 

Def pressed the tip into Blue’s temple, teeth gritting together, “You want to test that?”

Blue stayed still, feeling the weight of it against his skin. Trying to keep his breaths steady as he kept their eyes locked. “King would want you to stay,” he said. “He would want you to protect the Lark heir.”

The DJ’s stare went more distant, blurrily scanning down Blue’s features. “Everything was fine before the heir showed up. So maybe,” he said, digging it a little harder into Blue’s temple. “Maybe everything would be better without him.”

Blue’s eyebrows twinged together. “Showed up?” he whispered. “Do you know where he is?”

Def’s eyes stayed fixed, fingers twisting around the gun’s grip. Breathes so heavy that Blue thought he might start crying again. “Let. Me. Go,” he said, firmly. With all the finality of a last threat.

Blue gulped, staring back at him and seeing the manic look in his eyes. He dropped Def’s wrist, backing away.

Def’s arm fell, looking at Blue one last time before he got into the van. Turning the engine and pulling away. The van shrinking smaller and smaller until it was just a white dot fading into foggy, gray distance.

Behind Blue, the chapel doors opened. His head turned, watching Surge start to filter out. Making their way to their rides. No goodbyes exchanged. The tone already too dark for that. Especially considering how many cars were driving off with one less member riding along. Blue’s eyes caught onto the sight of bright red hair, a pair of goggles swinging from his hand, and yellow hair, that makeshift sling across his chest. He chased after them.

“Z!” he called, coming up to their car. “Dandy!”

They didn’t even raise their eyes. Leaning onto the car as they spoke closely, voices just small mutterings of words getting lost in the desert sound.

Blue slowed to a stop in front of them, feeling the immediate tension in their postures. Dandy looked over momentarily, not carrying any of that youthful levity he brought to the team. Instead he looked more severe, more hardened than Blue had ever seen. 

He looked between them. “What did they say?” he asked, pushing his wet hair from his face.

For once, Dandy didn’t speak.

“Z,” Blue said, edging on panic. “Tell me. What did they say?”

Z still didn’t meet his eyes. “What do you think?” he murmured, looking off into the distance.

Blue’s shoulders sank. “They voted against you.”

“Worse,” Dandy huffed, adjusting the sling on his arm.

“Worse?” Blue’s eyebrows raised. 

Z finally looked at him, eyes full of more than just bitter anger. Other emotions that were harder to read. “I’ve been exiled.”

“What?” Blue stepped closer. “What does that-” 

“No missions, no vote, no voice,” Z said. “Not until they vote me in again.” 

Blue’s mind blanked. Because the Surge without Z? Z without the Surge? It just didn’t make any sense. “How can they do that?” he said, getting worked up. “They need you. The Crows are out here looking-” 

“I know that,” Z stopped him. “But the Surge don’t have confidence in me right now. They blame me for what happened today.”

“I don’t blame you, Z,” Dandy offered. “It’s not your fault we were ambushed.” 

“Thanks, man,” he murmured, like it wasn’t the consolation he wanted.

“Where will you go?” Dandy asked.

“I have places,” he nodded. The hint of a forced smile on his face, meant to be encouraging, looked pained.

Dandy’s face looked sickened, from more than just his wound.

“Hey. I’m not going far,” Z soothed, squeezing his friend’s operative shoulder. “I just need to lay low awhile and let this blow over. That’s all.”

Dandy seemed unconvinced, but out of words. “Be safe,” he said, as he started to pull away.

“You too, Dandy,” Z nodded. “I want you all healed up by the time I’m back.”

Dandy seemed unwilling to take his eyes away as he turned, glancing over his shoulder like he was trying to get one last good look at Z.

Blue felt that uneasiness sink deeper. Feeling like it was all his fault. Afterall, he’d been the reason the Surge lost faith in Z. He was the rule Z had broken. Maybe it was just as Dandy said. Maybe things only had been chaotic when Blue arrived. Maybe it was some kind of bad luck, bringing nothing but destruction to all he touched.

Blue rushed to Z’s side. “Let me come with you,” he sputtered out, speaking over all the guilt in his head.

“Did you get water in your ears?” Z said, disparaging expression pulled tight. “I’m exiled. No interaction with the Surge allowed.” 

“I’m not a Surge.” 

Z went quiet, fidgeting with the goggles in his hands.

Blue felt his heart aching in his chest. “You’re mad,” he said. “That you got voted out because of me.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Z shook his head. “If it hadn’t been you, it would have been something else. Ars was just trying to take me down. This is all part of his plan. He gets control of the radio, control of the Surge. So he can hand it over to Titanic who will crush it all between his fingers.” 

“I just don’t understand,” Blue breathed. “What’s in it for Ars?”

Z sighed. “Maybe we gave him too much credit,” he admitted. “Maybe it’s not wealth or power. Maybe all he ever really wanted was payback for what I did to him.” 

“Stop,” Blue said, reaching forward to touch his arm. Meeting his eyes. “You know damn well you couldn’t have helped what happened between you two.” 

Z huffed, tucking his wet hair behind his ear. “Easy for you to say,” he said, fighting against the smile on his face.

Blue narrowed his eyes, mouth turning up at the corners, “What does that mean?” 

“He wanted to know my name,” Z grinned. “But now, it’s yours.” 

Blue’s chest ached again, but in a totally different way. That heavy, tense tone finally feeling just ever so slightly lifted. The gray sky that much lighter. He shrugged, “If Ars knew what a lousy name it is, he probably wouldn’t care anymore.”

“Hey!” Z laughed, actually sounding genuine this time as he pushed at Blue’s chest.

He grabbed Z’s hands, pulling him. The area around the chapel was more quiet now as most had driven away, leaving little but the pitter-patter of rain filling the silence between them. Blue laced an arm around Z’s waist, drawing them closely together. Watching Z’s beautiful smile get distracted as his eyes landed on Blue’s mouth.

“Let me come with you,” Blue repeated, softer this time. 

Z looked up to his eyes, more serious now. “Baby Blue,” he said. “Where I’m going. It’s not… it’s bad.”

“I don’t care,” Blue shook his head. “I’m going to follow you everywhere.” 

Z smiled again. Not wide and laughing, but something small, genuine. Tender. At peace. And It made Blue flutter with admiration. At the simple idea that he’d put it there.

“ _Em_ ,” Blue whispered, reaching up to touch his cheek, feeling the sun-warmed tan of his skin seep through his cold, damp fingers.

Z drew in a deep breath, keeping his eyes steady. He reached up to take the hand at his face, turning and putting a quick kiss against the palm, before letting it fall. “Get in the car, Blue.”


	7. "Is It Obvious?"

The days that followed the award ceremony were dull, quiet, cold. The snow outside graying the sky, making it feel just as murky and overcast as Mark’s thoughts. Desperate to close the curtains and escape into the quiet, distant places of his mind, his apartment. Shutting out the noise, the city.

He was laying in bed one morning, deleting emails from press, companies, sponsors, not even reading their impassioned attempts to meet with him, when the door of his bedroom was suddenly kicked open. He jolted, heart skipping as his eyes shot up. Seeing a very bundled up Jackson staring back.

Mark took a breath, settling his frayed nerves, “What are you doing here?”

“It was an emergency,” Jackson pouted, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. “I haven’t seen my best friend in days.”

Mark pulled his knees into his chest, backing himself into the headboard. “This is an extreme misuse of my keycode,” he muttered, looking back to the screen.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“It’s snowing.”

Jackson huffed, “Since when does that bother you?”

“I’m not in the mood, Jackson,” Mark said, settling deeper into the covers.

“All the more reason,” Jackson said, jumping to his feet. “Come on. I’ll buy lunch. I just got a new brand deal.”

“With who?”

“A shaving cream company,” he shrugged, zipping his coat higher.

Mark scoffed. “Some gig.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow, “Just for that, I won’t let you use my discount code.” He reached out, grabbing his friend’s wrist and tugging him, “Come on.”

By the time they sat down at a restaurant on the block, the snowfall seemed even heavier. Mark watched out the window as it fell like ash, wondering what exactly it all meant. What exactly was it burning through? He felt unsettled by the thought.

“Earth to Mark,” Jackson interrupted, leaning over the table to wave a hand in front of his face. “Are you listening?” 

“Hm?” he looked back at the table, watching as the steaming bowls of food were delivered and forcing a smile at the grouchy-looking staff.

“Oh, you’re not. Cool,” Jackson sighed, grabbing utensils for the both of them.

“Sorry,” Mark shook his head. “I’m here.”

“You’re being awfully quiet,” Jackson said as he started picking at the meal. “Even for you.”

“Am I?” Mark hummed, disinterested.

Jackson's eyes weighed heavy with skepticism, “Something weighing on you?” 

“No,” he lied, starting to eat. Trying to look preoccupied with the food.

“You know,” Jackson tilted his head. “You still haven’t told me. About the award show.”

Mark shook his head, “You already inferred everything you needed to know.”

“I don’t think I did.”

Mark went quiet again, still picking even though his appetite was quickly dwindling down to nothing.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” Jackson offered. “But if you’re hurting, I’d like to hurt with you.”

“I’m not hurting. I’m just,” he took a bite, trying to think. “Processing.”

“Damn,” Jackson’s face tightened. “Was he that bad?”

“What?” Mark’s eyes widened. “No, no. He wasn’t bad.”

“Ahh, I see,” Jackson nodded. “He was that _good._ And now you’ve been dickmatized.”

Mark nearly dropped his utensils. “I’ve been what?”

“Dickmatized,” his friend shrugged. “Hypnotized by the dick.”

“Jackson.”

“Or maybe you’re in _dickstress_ ,” Jackson thought out loud. 

“Good god,” Mark rolled his eyes.

“Let me guess,” he smiled. “You are wondering if it’s too soon to exchange names?”

Mark glared at him. “That’s not funny.”

Jackson giggled, leaning his chin into his hand, “Sounding more and more like Z every day.”

“That’s _really_ not funny.”

“Fine,” Jackson gave up, taking a bite. “Tell me then. Why your heated encounter with a very powerful and alluring CEO left you all bent out of shape?”

And in that moment, Mark was forced to go back there. Back to that hotel room. Back to when he willingly let himself indulge his own stubborn curiosity. On the condition that it was temporary. A temporary place, a temporary feeling, a temporary problem. 

But, as he reconsidered, he thought that maybe it had just been a temporary solution. And maybe that curiosity wasn’t as temporary as it had seemed. Because now, all he could think was that Jinyoung was like an iceberg, so much deeper than his cold, unassuming surface. And there was no formula that could accurately calculate that depth. Which might have been why Mark had felt like the only choice he had was to dive right in. 

Mark raised his utensil, scratching it behind his ear. “Can you wait?” he asked, voice weak, exasperated. “Until I’m ready to talk about it?”

Jackson paused, eyes glazing over Mark’s features. His playfulness easing. “Of course, Mark,” he said, tender with understanding. “I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

\---

Mark felt bad when midway through the interview, he realized he’d completely forgotten the name of the environment artist sitting opposite him under those hot lights in the Higher Games conference room. And though what the man was talking about was objectively interesting, even in the shy, diminutive way he was saying it, Mark couldn’t seem to focus. Too wrapped up in every small mention of mid-century ranch houses, soda fountain diners, abandoned bowling alley roofs. Feeling those hot lights a little more like they were the desert sun itself, transporting him to places that felt impossibly distant yet eerily familiar.

When the staff finally called it, he wrapped up their conversation, exchanging pleasantries before starting to gather his things. He rummaged around in the corner for his parka as quickly as he could, eager to slip away before anyone would notice. 

“Mr. Tuan?” called a voice from the doorway. Mark looked up, seeing Yugyeom hover closer, Mark’s winter parka held tightly between his hands. “Do you have a minute?” he winced, like it pained him just to ask. “Before you leave?”

Mark carefully watched his face, “For what?”

Yugyeom toyed with the jacket between his fingers. “Just a quick meeting. In the other conference room,” he pointed across the hall, forcing something in his tone like an attempt at nonchalance.

Mark must have looked as ambivalent as he was feeling at the mere suggestion.

“Nothing bad,” Yugyeom rushed to say.

But somehow, it didn’t assuage Mark’s hesitation. He checked his watch, knowing he didn’t have anywhere to be. “Quick,” he nodded, taking his jacket and following Yugyeom into the room across the hall.

As soon as Mark was past the door, his eyes lifted upwards, stiffening in the threshold when his gaze met Jinyoung’s. He was sitting at one side of the long conference table, hands folded in his lap. He was back in another smart suit, looking especially put together today. Hair and face smooth, eyes not marred by glasses.

Mark felt the momentary flash of remembrance, contrasting this Jinyoung from the beautifully disheveled version he’d left in that hotel room. And when something in his face looked inexplicably bothered, unmistakably tense, it made Mark wonder if he was being called in here to get fired. Not sure whether that thought offered relief or distress.

Yugyeom touched his shoulder. “Have a seat,” he directed.

Mark unglued his eyes, his stance, slowly making his way to the other side of the table and sinking down into a chair. Not raising his eyes towards Jinyoung’s end anymore.

Yugyeom’s eyes shifted towards his boss for a moment, looking visibly flustered before he rushed to where Mark was sitting, taking the seat next to him. He pulled a folder from under his arm, opening it against the table and smoothing it with his hands. “So,” he breathed. “The game will be out in three more weeks.”

“Mhmm,” Mark nodded, feeling the press of Jinyoung’s presence even from this distance. Suffocating him, leaving him so lightheaded that it was hard to focus on Yugyeom's words.

“And,” the marketing officer smiled. “To kick off the release, the company wanted to hold a party.”

Mark stared at him blankly. “Okay.”

Yugyeom’s smile staled, seeming to sense the confusion as he rushed to speak, “We would like you to attend.”

Mark went quiet, trying not to look up at Jinyoung across the table. Feeling the weight of his gaze even heavier in the silence.

Yugyeom looked nervous again, looking down to the folder and starting to sort through the papers. “We had some ideas. About how it might look. Who else might attend,” he said, pulling out some printed images and pushing them towards Mark. “We put a deposit on a venue.”

Mark leaned forward to see a sleek, futuristic home, clear glass all around the first level while the top floor held a modern rooftop garden cut into precise geometric lines. He looked up, seeing Yugyeom’s expectant eyes awaiting his reaction. “Looks nice,” he noted, hollowly.

Yugyeom’s face fell. “You hate it,” he said. He groaned. “I knew we should have gone with the space-themed club.”

“No,” Mark shook his head. “Yugyeom. It’s fine. It’s,” he stopped himself, sighing. “I’m sorry. What does this have to do with _me_?”

“We-,” Yugyeom started to say before pausing. Correcting himself. “ _The company._ Wanted to make you the guest of honor.”

Mark’s head swam, the answer somehow leaving everything even less clear. “What does that mean exactly?”

Yugyeom’s face went nervous again, looking down the table quickly. “Well,” he said, looking like it was difficult for him to meet Mark’s eyes. “You would be extended a VIP invitation,” he smiled tightly. “And you’d be able to bring a friend. If you want.”

Mark’s brows raised. “And?” he asked. Because it wasn’t enough to warrant such a title.

Yugyeom swallowed. He reached out, starting to collect the papers in his hands again, meticulously stacking them together and tucking them back into their folder. “Our team thought it might be nice for you to do an interview,” he shrugged.

Mark narrowed his eyes, “Who do you want me to interview?”

“Actually. We wanted _you_ to be the person interviewed. With Mr. Park.”

Mark went still. Even more questions springing up. “Why?”

“We just thought that fans might want to hear from you,” he shrugged again. “Oh,” he perked, diving back into his folder. “I had some potential questions drafted up,” he murmured, brows creasing together as he searched. “It’s somewhere in here,” he said, getting visibly flustered as the searching became more frantic. He put the folder down. “I think I left it in my office,” he said, getting up quickly. “I’ll run. Real quick. Be right back. Don’t leave.” He rushed from the room, door slamming in his wake.

The glass of the windows shook. Leaving nothing but stillness. Awkward, tense stillness. Nothing to preoccupy Mark’s hands, eyes, thoughts. Forced to look back down the table and see Jinyoung still sitting at the end, hands still folded together. A perfected image of collectedness.

Jinyoung opened his mouth, hesitating for only a moment. “Did you get home okay the other day?” he asked, with no softness in his tone. As if he was asking if he’d reached a deadline, finished a deliverable, met a quota.

Mark didn’t know what to feel. Awkward, uncomfortable, sure. But the offhanded, stern way that Jinyoung spoke to him, felt almost nostalgic. Harkening back to before the award show. And reflexively, he felt that same, familiar annoyance burn hot under his skin. 

He scoffed, looking out the window to the snowy mountain across the river. Wishing he was there instead of here. “Obviously.” 

The silence stretched a little longer, a little thinner.

“Mark,” Jinyoung said, seemingly incapable of dropping that firmness. “I wanted to apologize.” 

He looked back towards the end of the table, watching Jinyoung’s fingers fidget together. “For what?” 

The man’s eyes cast downward, swallowing before he spoke, “I think there was some sort of miscommunication-” 

“No,” Mark stopped him. Dealing back the same harsh tone, twice as brutal. Stinging as the words left his lips. “You were very clear, Jinyoung. You wanted a night, I gave you a night.” 

“But in the morning,” Jinyoung argued. “You-”

Mark’s stare shot daggers to get him to stop. He didn’t need the recap. He knew what he did, what he enjoyed doing. He didn’t need to be reminded.

“I just-” Jinyoung stopped again, exhaling harshly. Struggling to get the words out. “There was more that I wanted,” he said, tone rigid.

Mark narrowed his eyes. “More what?” 

“More… time? More you?” Jinyoung questioned. He didn’t look up, face pensive as he picked at something invisible on the knee of his dress pants. “I think that’s what I was trying to say that morning. Perhaps. But... maybe I didn’t,” he admitted, sounding defeated. 

Mark looked at him. And in the briefest of flashes, he felt like some sort of scholar, trying to read between the jagged lines that Jinyoung’s words were creating. Mentally tracing them across the page with his finger like it might help make them clearer. Variable meanings that faded in and out of labored honesty and timid vulnerability. More guarded than that softened, stripped down version of Jinyoung he’d seen at the hotel. Making Mark feel between realities. Between the one where Jinyoung was a cold, stern CEO that would do anything to get his way. And the one where he perhaps felt more like a tender-hearted stranger in a blue scarf, ready to smooth Mark’s ruffled feathers with just a smile and a brush of fingers.

 _Which one are you?_ Mark thought, fingertips pressing up against his mouth to make sure he didn’t murmur it aloud.

Jinyoung cleared his throat, adjusting himself in his chair. His voice coming out quieter when he spoke. “I guess I-” his face gave an unconscious twitch. “I guess I thought maybe you wanted more of me too.” 

“That’s not what I wanted,” Mark shot back without a second thought. That contrarian itch that never settled down always speaking for him.

Jinyoung looked up at him. He held his stare. “Are you sure? Because…” his words trailed off. Mouth going tight. “Nevermind.” 

“No. Say it,” Mark ordered.

“It’s fine, Mark,” Jinyoung shook his head. Sounding anything but fine. “It’s not what you wanted. I apologize if I misread that.”

And as soon as he said it, Mark ached with distrust. Not in Jinyoung, but himself. No longer feeling like an authority on his own wants. Because he hadn’t wanted to take the contract, but he did. He hadn’t wanted to do the interviews, but he did. He hadn’t wanted to sleep with Jinyoung, but he did. So who was he to say what he wanted anymore?

But before Mark could fight either Jinyoung or himself on it, the conference room door opened again. Yugyeom stood in the threshold, a messy collection of papers in his hands. His eyes panned between the two of men. He swallowed. “Am I interrupting?”

The room fell silent once again, tension stewing. 

Mark couldn’t stand it anymore. He scooted back his chair. “I should be heading home,” he breathed, grabbing his things as he rose to his feet.

“O-oh,” Yugyeom stuttered. “Allow me to walk you out.” 

“I know the way,” Mark said, pulling on his coat as he headed for the door.

Yugyeom stepped into his path. “I insist.” 

Mark’s mouth went tight, eyes flashing over towards Jinyoung once more, but only seeing the man looking out the window, thumb tucked just beyond his teeth. Mark sighed, nodding as he stepped around the marketing officer, taking off down the hall. He felt Yugyeom fall into place next to him, trying to keep up with his quick pace.

“Yugyeom,” Mark said, not looking over. Not wanting to see the shine of his red hair in the glass of the passing offices. Because it only stood as further evidence that he couldn’t trust himself.

“Yes, sir?” he breathed, weaving closer to listen.

“If I left this building and never came back, what would happen?”

The man was quiet for just a moment. “It was agreed upon in your contract that you could pull out whenever you so choose.” 

Mark’s brow furrowed, not remembering reading anything like that. He stopped, turning to stare quizzically at Yugyeom. “Did I advocate for that?” 

“No,” Yugyeom said, looking scared to say it. “Mr. Park did.” 

Mark blinked, turning again to continue onwards towards the elevators.

Yugyeom caught up again. “Are you considering it?” he asked, sounding slightly panicked.

Mark went silent. Unsure.

“I think it would be a shame if you did,” Yugyeom probed. “The viewers have loved your streams.”

Mark sighed. “The viewers are just trying to see the game. They don’t care about me.” 

“With all due respect, I think you know that’s not true.” 

Mark didn’t know what he thought. He reached the elevators, hitting the down button and turning back towards Yugyeom. “Listen,” he sighed. “I’ll see you later, okay?” 

Yugyeom’s brows furrowed, looking concerned. “Should I-” 

“No,” Mark stopped him. “Not yet.” The elevator dinged, doors opening. And Mark didn’t hesitate to make a quick escape.

\---

While Mark didn’t linger in that office, the feeling he’d had did. Disoriented, adrift. A blurred version of himself floating out in the ambiguity. His mental image of Jinyoung just as blurred, hazy around the edges like an unfamiliar figure that Mark couldn’t place.

Mark tried to find comfort in simple, familiar things. Like letting himself default to his old favorite games for an evening stream. But even when he tried to escape Jinyoung’s world, the imprint of it still lingered in Mark’s chat. In the questions about the Dust, the allusions to Z and Blue. Viewers so desperate to know his thoughts about the rooftop, the name exchange, the exile, the traitor in the Surge’s midst. As if Mark himself was an extension of the character. 

He had half a mind to remind them that he wasn’t in fact Z. That it was just a game. A game he wasn’t currently playing. But he didn’t. Instead staying quiet, passively scanning inbetween respawns.

And at some point, he stopped reading the chat entirely. Stopped paying attention to anything but the multiplayer shooter laid out in front of him. Because that’s what gaming had always been to him: a retreat from all the murky thoughts he didn’t want to keep wading through.

A knock on Mark’s front door in between matches had him turning his head, trying to place what it could be for a moment before realizing that he hadn’t ordered anything. And he wasn’t expecting Jackson. So it could only be one thing. 

A package. A blue heart.

“Be right back,” he rushed to say, pushing off his headset and nearly sprinting from the room. He raced up to the front door, swiftly pulling it open.

He took a reflexive step back when instead of a thing, it was a person. Jinyoung. Standing before him in a button down, a pair of dark jeans, an expensive looking trench that seemed too thin to fight off any winter chill. Mark looked down towards his hands where a hoodie sat, perfectly folded. A designer tag, a blue heart sticker.

Mark met his eyes, blanking.

“I found this on your doorstep,” Jinyoung said, offering it forward.

Mark looked down to it again. Not adding it all up. The expectation of the gift intersecting with something totally unexpected. He reached out, taking it and holding it tightly against his chest, protectively. “What are you doing here?” he sighed, flicking his hair from his face. Trying too hard to feign botheredness in place of confusion.

Jinyoung stuffed his hands into his jean pockets, lips pressing into a thin line. “I need to talk to you.”

A swell of anxiety rose up in Mark. Because their last talk hadn’t exactly gone well. “Can’t,” he said, too bluntly. Backing away into his apartment. “I’m live right now.”

Jinyoung took a step forward into the threshold, reaching out to brace himself against the door’s frame. “Yugyeom told me you might be breaking your contract with us?” he sputtered out, brows creasing together.

Mark went still, tasting a bite of sourness towards Yugyeom for not keeping his mouth shut. Because he thought it had been implied that the conversation was just between them. But apparently not. He shook his head. “I haven’t decided that,” he said, immediately dismissing it.

“But you’re considering it?” Jinyoung said, cutting through any potential ambiguity. The determination in his eyes intent on getting a straightforward answer.

Mark went quiet. Not having a simple answer for him. Because he had considered it, sure. But since he’d left the office, he’d oscillated between staying and leaving so many times that it all became a blur. He huffed, frustrated. “Not out here,” he said, fisting a hand into the front of Jinyoung’s shirt and dragging him inside.

When the door swung closed behind them, Mark’s fingers loosened, turning away and walking to the far side of the living room. He peeked through the door to his gaming room, checking the stale game screen, the steadily rolling chat. All seemingly peaceful without him. He leaned his shoulder into the wall, crossing his arms as he looked back to Jinyoung, who was eyeing the apartment with no attempt at subtlety. But when the silence went on a beat too long, he looked back at Mark, who still had nothing to offer him.

“You’re mad,” Jinyoung said softly. Fiddling with a silver ring on his pinkie. “About...” his words trailed off, but they both knew exactly what he was talking about. The award show, the night, the morning, all of it.

Mark shrugged. “I don’t have anything to be mad about.”

Jinyoung tilted his head, a question weighing too heavy in his eyes before he even spoke it. “Then, why do you want to quit?”

Mark paused, trying to breath. Trying to think. Finding it nearly impossible to do both at the same time. “Come here,” he commanded.

He watched as Jinyoung’s eyes went round, cautious. Fixating on Mark as he crossed the room in slow, timid steps. 

When he was close enough, Mark’s gaze peered into his handsome face. His tawny eyes, his full cheeks, his sculpted jaw, his permanently upturned lips. Trying to take in all of it, see all of him. And as he looked, he tried to mimic the bitterness, the caustic itch he’d felt towards Jinyoung in prior meetings. But it wasn’t there. All that was there were thoughts of bowling alleys rooftops that he’d never really known. January nights that felt more like desert ones. And though he’d never seen Blue’s face, always viewing the world from just behind his shoulder, he had an overwhelming feeling that he was looking right into it at that very moment.

And it must have all shown through too much in some unintelligible way, Mark’s pensiveness, his indecisiveness, his nostalgia for things that had never really happened, because Jinyoung’s hand came up, grasping Mark’s hip like it was an involuntary reflex. “Hey,” he breathed. “Talk to me.” His thumb circling Mark’s hipbone with just as much gentle desperation as his tone. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

 _What’s wrong,_ he echoed in his head. In Jinyoung’s voice and then his own. _What’s wrong?_

Mark gulped, body giving a shiver despite Jinyoung’s fingers radiating only warmth through the fabric of his t-shirt. He unfolded his crossed arms, reaching out slowly to slide his hand against Jinyoung’s cheek. It felt so warm underneath his fingers. Unreal. His hand slid further, caressing the soft skin on Jinyoung’s nape. Fingertips brushing against the knots in his spine.

Mark gripped a little firmer as he started to pull him closer, watching Jinyoung’s gaze fall to his mouth. He kissed him. Sweeter than the last time. No bitterness left in it. And while his mind was tempted to rush through a million more thoughts and worries, he tried to block it all out. Tried to focus solely on the way Jinyoung felt, the way his skin smelled. Like the air from outside, like something harder to place as well. As if it was just Jinyoung’s chemistry complementing his own. 

Mark pulled away, looking up into Jinyoung’s face. And in the moment, every thought had him wanting to chase another kiss. Before it hit him.

 _That,_ his mind spoke. _That’s exactly what’s wrong._

Mark wasn’t supposed to want that. But he did. He wasn’t supposed to want Jinyoung. After all, the man had been making it so easy to hate him for so long. But looking into his eyes, those little things that Mark had hated, his snarkiness, his arrogance, his razor sharp wit, were nowhere to be found. And whatever was left was frustratingly gentle, painfully timid, brutally genuine. And Mark had no words left to offer him, no explanations for his words, his actions. Nothing but-

He leaned up, kissing Jinyoung all over again and feeling his stiff shoulders melt. Mark’s fingertips combing up into his dark hair, clutching at it to leverage him closer. Tongues peeked through lips, tastes mingling. The movements between their mouths weaving a rhythm like poetry read aloud to a lover.

Jinyoung’s other hand went to Mark’s other hip, guiding him until his back was flush against the wall. Pressing into his body with the long line of his own. Creating beautiful contours with the bowing of his shoulders, the bend of his knee, the rise of his hands under the hem of Mark’s t-shirt.

Mark’s skin gave a pleasant little rush at the feeling of Jinyoung’s bare fingertips. “I’m live, Jinyoung,” he murmured, hands getting lost in his hair.

Jinyoung paid little mind as his mouth sloped to Mark’s cheek, his jaw, his neck. “Are you muted?” he said, warm breath tickling against his pulse.

Mark felt the heat seep through him, knowing exactly what was about to happen. “No,” he admitted.

Jinyoung brought his face close, lively gaze panning down Mark’s face. “Good.” He pulled his hands away, hurriedly shrugging off his trenchcoat and letting it fall to the floor before returning them to Mark. Kissing him again. Twice as fervent. Hands sliding down his waist, hips, curving around his ass and lifting him up the wall.

Mark let himself be pinned, legs wrapping around his waist as he kissed him again. Feeling Jinyoung press harder into his body and arching up to meet him. And god, it felt good having all that muscled weight on him again, pressure in all the right places that had his body thrumming to life.

Jinyoung rolled his hips up into Mark, brushing up against him in a way that it had him hissing through his teeth. Feeling hardening cocks graze and biting down on Jinyoung’s lip to keep from crying out. Which only had Jinyoung encouraged, doing it again. Grinding him into the wall and digging greedy fingers into his thighs.

And it must have felt good for Jinyoung too because he buried his face into Mark’s neck as he kept going with increased intensity, whimpering and moaning at every strong rock of his hips. Sounding deranged, desperate to get off at any cost. 

Mark pulled at his hair, bringing his face close again and kissing him. “Shh,” he shushed against his mouth. “You’re so loud. You’re going to get me banned.”

Jinyoung pulled away, staring up at him with round eyes. “Where’s your room?” he panted.

Mark’s head went a little dizzy. Eyes darting towards the bedroom door.

Jinyoung’s gaze followed, understanding before he gripped Mark tighter, pulling him off the wall and carrying him to the room. Shifting him to one hand to leverage the door open. Inside, the lights were off with just enough excess spilling in from the living room for them to see. Jinyoung went to the bed, letting Mark fall onto his back before crawling over him. He kissed him as his hand snaked up his thigh, palming his cock over his pants.

Mark arched up, maneuvering his t-shirt off and tossing it aside before his fingers went to Jinyoung’s buttons. Working them open as his hips angled closer, eager to get any sort of friction he could. He shoved Jinyoung’s shirt off, fingers brushing down his frame, even better than his memory. Stirring immediate desires, needs that had to be addressed. 

“One second,” he breathed, getting up to go to his bathroom, rummaging through three drawers before he found what he needed.

When he came back into the room, Jinyoung was sitting shirtless on the edge of his bed. His eyes not so subtly roaming over Mark’s body as the pronounced outline in his jeans spoke for him.

And Mark couldn’t help but feel at least flattered, willing to indulge him as he stood before him. Slowly and purposefully working his pants down his hips, his legs, kicking them away and watching Jinyoung’s stare get even heavier. Mark smirked, coming forward to straddle his lap, taking a seat. Feeling Jinyoung’s hands immediately catch him, wrapping around his body to feel every bit of exposed skin.

Mark handed him the bottle, watching him slick up his fingers, before Jinyoung reached around. Inching them towards Mark’s entrance. And when he got there, slipping across it, Mark couldn’t stand the way Jinyoung was eagerly watching his reaction. He buried his face in the man’s shoulder to keep the blush off his cheeks.

“Hey,” Jinyoung laughed, Mark feeling it rumble from his chest. “No fair.” And with his other hand, he pulled Mark’s face up. Watching him even more closely as he sunk into him.

Mark gasped, wanting to hide again, but the intent stare of Jinyoung’s eyes didn’t feel as scary this time. It was so sure and reverent that it nearly felt grounding.

“You’re so good,” Jinyoung whispered. “So perfect.”

Now Mark’s ears really burned, mouth falling open when Jinyoung sunk into him again, angling his hand in a way that had him losing his breath.

“Are you going to let me have you again?” Jinyoung asked, dazzling shine in his eyes.

Mark arched back into his hand, wanting him deeper. “I don’t know,” he breathed. “Do you think you deserve me?”

“Probably not,” he answered, twisting his fingers, making Mark cry out. “But I made you feel good last time, right?” he smiled. “So good that you got down on your knees for me the next morning.”

Mark remembered. He remembered how good it was. Considered going on his knees right now and having it again. But with Jinyoung nearly three fingers deep inside of him already, he had more immediate needs. He reached down, feeling at Jinyoung through his jeans before deftly undoing the fly, pulling it open and taking him out.

“I’m going to do this, but you’re not gonna make a sound,” Mark hissed. “And when it’s over, you’re leaving and I’m finishing my stream.”

Jinyoung’s smile grew. He nodded. Drawing his fingers out of Mark and slicking up his cock, leaning back onto the bed to guide Mark’s hips onto it.

Mark sat flush in his lap, feeling himself fill up just the same as last time. Wincing to keep from moaning as he looked down at Jinyoung laid out underneath him. Remembering the first time Blue fucked Z and imagining that same perspective that Jinyoung had now. Not expecting the way it empowered him, knowing he looked good from this angle and not modest enough to stop as he rolled his hips down again.

Jinyoung’s chest heaved, clenching his teeth together as his eyes skirted down him. That hunger in his eyes like he was trying to memorize him again.

Mark moved again, sliding down across Jinyoung’s length and feeling every inch of it. And as much as he wanted to stay composed, restrained, in control, he couldn’t help but buckle from how good it felt. Hips stifling at the immensity of the feeling twisting up his spine.

Jinyoung must have noticed, hands coming up to Mark’s hips and helping him keep pace. Making sure that every thrust went just as deep.

And Mark let him, dazed as he lost himself in it. Riding him with so much uncharacteristic recklessness. Dizzy and high off the combination of sensations and visuals. Jinyoung looking too delightfully good from this angle as well.

He probably could have held out for longer if it wasn’t for Jinyoung’s hand coming up around his cock, stroking him with persistent eyes trained on his face. And that was enough to have Mark falling forward, hands gripping into Jinyoung’s firm chest as he came, spilling across his torso. Painting him even more beautifully.

After Jinyoung had worked him through it, he put his hands back to Mark’s hips, leveraging him even harder against him.

And though Mark was sensitive, it still felt good, but better than that was the sight of Jinyoung’s eyes going glazed, mouth falling open. So close, so on edge. He was infuriating. Mark reached forward, swiping three fingers through the mess of his stomach. Lifting them to Jinyoung’s open mouth and tucking them just beyond his lips, brushing them up against his tongue. And it felt like some sort of revenge for all the frustration the man had been causing him. A taste of its crude manifestation.

Jinyoung’s tongue was wet and warm, sliding against his fingers. Diligently and willingly taking everything Mark was willing to give him. He reached a hand around Mark’s nape, pulling him down and kissing him. Tastes mingling as his thrusts grew clumsier, needier. Whimpering and biting into Mark’s lips as he hit his breaking point, slowing down to nothing.

Mark rolled off of him, laying next to him on his stomach. Head still turned to watch his face. Watch him brush his hair away from his face, looking over at Mark. And it felt like they spent an eternity staring. Breaths going calm as they lay paused in time. The only source of motion were the slow rises of their chests, drowsy blinks of their lashes, Jinyoung’s fingers reaching out to sweep across Mark’s back. Painting up and down, feeling deeper than just skin. 

And it felt different than last time, in so many ways. The way they were in Mark’s apartment, his room, his bed. Not just some nameless hotel that would change the sheets as soon as they left. Something more fixed. And maybe all of it should have scared Mark. Maybe it did.

“Come over,” Jinyoung whispered, breaking up the quiet. “To my place.”

Mark felt the tingle of nerves just like Jinyoung was stirring them with his fingers. He pushed himself up, getting out of bed. “I have to go back,” he said without looking. “I have to finish my stream.” He grabbed his pants, the folded up hoodie, snapping off the blue heart tag and starting to pull it over his head. It felt so comforting, so wholesome. Exactly what he needed.

“Come over after,” Jinyoung said.

The suggestion settled somewhere low in Mark’s stomach, so warm that he wished it would stay longer. But then again, maybe he didn’t. Maybe he did? He wasn’t sure. “It will be late,” he offered, looking back over his shoulder.

Jinyoung was sitting up, legs criss-crossed under one of Mark’s blankets. “I’ll stay up,” he said, shamelessly eager. “I’ll wait for you.”

Mark turned, facing him. Watching that unobscured genuineness in his eyes. The warmth in Mark’s stomach turned over, sizzling again. “Send me the address,” he said, walking out of the bedroom and back to the office.

He got back to his desk, taking a seat and putting on his headset. “Sorry about that,” he sighed. “Took longer than I thought.” His eyes scanned the chat, seeing the flurry of speculative comments. “Okay,” he ignored them, hands poised at the keyboard and mouse. “Where were we?”

\---

The taxi ride felt so long that Mark wondered if he was even in the same city anymore. The driver was wearing a pair of leather gloves that squeaked everytime he turned the wheel. He had his window down and all the frigid draft was flowing into the backseat, leaving Mark’s teeth chattering in just his new hoodie. He’d been too distracted and rushed and hazed from the sex to grab a real coat after his stream, bolting out the door and hoping that Jackson didn’t happen to spot him.

“Visiting a friend?” the driver said, lazily making conversation.

Mark bit his lips, looking out the window at the passing skyscrapers. “No,” he murmured. “Just a colleague.”

“It’s going to be cold tonight,” the driver said, pulling up to the curb. “Make sure you find a warm place to lay your head.”

Mark didn’t respond, just fumbled to pay. And when he finally got onto the street, his gaze traveled up the length of the skyscraper towering over him. He sighed, the haze of his breath snaking upwards as it dissipated. Jinyoung hadn’t needed to say which floor he lived on when he sent the address and keycode. Mark knew. He drew the hood up around his face, guarding himself from more than the cold as he went inside.

He rode the elevator to the top floor, doors opening and pulling Mark’s attention upward. He stepped out, slipping his shoes off as he started looking around. The penthouse was grand. Stretching out in every direction with panoramic views of the midnight dowsed skyline. The whole floor plan open and modern and neat. Remembering an all too similar looking penthouse with a body on the carpet, a scent of blood in the air, a firm talking to in his ears.

A clattering of metal startled him, sharply turning his head towards the kitchen. 

Jinyoung was standing at the cupboard, pulling down a pot from the shelf and bringing it to the sink at the island. He had changed his clothes, sporting a thin heather t-shirt and sweatpants. His hair still slightly damp from a shower. He started filling the pot with water, gaze flicking up to Mark. “You didn’t eat, did you?” 

Mark watched him. He shook his head.

“I’ll make you food,” Jinyoung said simply, turning and putting the pot on the stove.

Mark followed him, coming up beside him as he put out a pack of ramen onto the counter. Mark eyed it.

“Take a seat,” Jinyoung said, motioning to the counter.

Mark’s mouth twisted together. He pushed himself up, settling on the counter and watching. Feeling the silence draw out as Jinyoung started ripping at packets, dumping them in. “World renowned chef.”

“Shut up,” Jinyoung smirked. But it wasn’t cocky at all. It was playful. Not a one-sided taunt, but something shared.

Mark pulled his hood up a little tighter around his face. His eyes going back to the ramen. “That’s my favorite brand,” he noted.

“I know,” Jinyoung said simply. Leaving it at that.

An itch of curiosity scratched at Mark’s brain. Not able to voice it. Not sure where it would even get him if he did.

“This is what my mom used to make it for me,” Jinyoung said, stirring the broth as it started to hiss. “When I stayed up too late.”

Mark felt his shoulders sink. A thought coming to the forefront. One he hadn’t even considered before.

“You can ask the question,” Jinyoung said.

He looked at him, finding his voice. “What happened to her?”

Jinyoung didn’t meet his eyes. “She separated from my dad,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Lives in Europe now. Remarried. We don’t talk much, visit much. She doesn’t like coming back to this place,” he said, beckoning to the apartment. “Always disappointed I kept it after he died. Wanting me to find a place of my own.”

Mark’s brows creased. Because it wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting. “Why did she leave?”

Jinyoung shrugged. “My father loved his games. He loved his company,” he said. “And she couldn’t stand that he loved something more than her.”

“Then she can’t be happy that you took up the company.”

“She’s not,” Jinyoung said. “We used to be close. Very close. But,” he snapped the noodles in two, tossing them into the boiling water. “Let’s just say she wouldn’t have moved away if I hadn’t taken the company.”

Mark’s shoulders fell. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, meaning it. “Family is everything.”

“Yet, you don’t live near yours,” Jinyoung noted, looking up towards him.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t love them,” Mark said. “Doesn’t mean they aren’t in everything I do.”

Jinyoung looked away, stirring the pot again. “My work, my employees. They are my family.”

Mark shook his head, “Your work can’t substitute that kind of absence.”

He let out a small huff under his breath. “And yet, I keep trying to make my work substitute all my absences, don’t I?” he joked, an edge of self-deprecation in it.

Mark went quiet. Not sure what he meant. Wanting to piece it apart, mine it for whatever truth it was holding, but he didn’t know how.

“Can I ask _you_ a question?” Jinyoung said.

“Sure.”

“The other night,” he said, brows drawing together. “You said you were trying to protect yourself. What from?”

Mark struggled. Because he wasn’t someone who knew how to open up. But Jinyoung had just done so. And he felt like he had to return the favor. So he tried, pushing through the uneasiness. “You must have known I was with Youngjae,” he said. “Back when I was on the national team.”

“Ah, yes,” Jinyoung said with feigned grandiose. “The power couple of Korea’s video game world.” 

Mark shook his head, “Not as dreamy as it sounded.”

Jinyoung looked over, speaking softer. “Tell me what happened.”

Mark took a deep breath. Not knowing where to start. He’d never had to tell this story all at once before. Always just allowing people closest to him to get it in the smallest bits and pieces. Letting them stitch it together himself. But he knew Jinyoung didn’t want a piece, he wanted the whole thing. So he went back to the beginning. “He was the one who recruited me,” he said. “I had never even thought about being in esports. He brought me in, helped me learn the language.” He thought back to that time. A foreign place, an unfamiliar profession, strange people. “It all seemed like an impossible world. Like I would never truly be accepted into it. There were so many times when I nearly quit it all.”

“What kept you going?”

Mark thought about it for a long moment. Not wanting to give some bullshit answer. But something real. The kind of clarity that only time could bring. “I wanted to make him proud of me,” he admitted. “I wanted to hear his praise. That was my motivation.”

Jinyoung’s gaze was trained on him, immovable. “You loved him.” And when he said the words, they sounded like a revelation. Like he hadn’t realized it until that moment. 

He felt the shame sink in. At his own naivety, his stupid tendency to cave in under the pressure of others. And even despite that, he knew the truth. “I did.”

Jinyoung’s brows pulled together. “And?”

Mark sighed. “The years went by, we went on being undefeated, world champions. But no matter how well I played, he just seemed to be slipping right through my fingers. Growing more and more disinterested in me.” He paused, fiddling with the precise stitches on the cuff of his sleeve. “One day, our management sat me down. Told me my contract was terminated. I asked why. They told me that they didn’t need a reason. And as a part of my termination, I had to give everything back. My awards, my titles, nearly everything but my name.” 

Jinyoung’s hand tightened against the stove. “That’s why you won’t take sponsorships, sign contracts.”

Mark nodded. “It’s just…” he bit his lips. “It’s so easy to lose yourself in who is signing your checks. To forget who you even were before them.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to lose myself again. Especially not at the convenience of someone else.”

Jinyoung was quiet for a moment, looking pensive. “Come on,” he finally murmured, flicking off the stove. Taking the pot over to the island.

Mark jumped off the counter, following. Sitting up on a stool next to him and taking the chopsticks in his hands. He stirred through it, breaking up the noodles and starting to eat.

“So,” Jinyoung finally said. “He just… left you? Like that?”

Mark swallowed his bite, wincing from either the heat of the broth or the nearing of the worst part of the story. “When I finally got Youngjae to talk to me, he told me that he had only dated me to bring me onto the team, to keep me around,” he explained. “But the shine of victory had worn off. He wanted to move on to bigger and better things. Without my name being brought up in every interview. It was easier for him to just bury me, my career, everything in the process.”

Jinyoung went quiet. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know.”

Mark shook his head. “It’s fine,” he said, sipping the broth, but still feeling it burn. “He doesn’t have power over me anymore. No one does. I don’t wake up for anyone. I don’t go to work for anyone. I don’t plan my day around anyone-”

“You don’t smile for anyone. You don’t wait up for anyone. You don’t fall asleep next to anyone,” Jinyoung interjected. A question weighing in his eyes before he even said it. “Is that freedom? Or loneliness?”

Mark went quiet, thinking. Because if you’d asked him a few weeks ago, he would have staunchly argued freedom. But now, he wasn’t quite sure. 

“Not everyone wants to change you, use you,” Jinyoung said. “Some people just want you to stay exactly as you are. They just want to be lucky enough to witness you. I hope you know that, Em.”

And there it was. That sound, that word. The one that had Mark sitting straight up in his last stream. Hating how sweet it had sounded in Blue’s mouth. He took another bite, wanting to give himself the time to carefully consider his next question.

Jinyoung let him have it, staying quiet as he watched Mark eat.

The ramen pot was nothing but residual flecks of spice and fragments of bloated noodles when Mark pushed it away. He looked over towards Jinyoung, seeing his handsome face patient. Waiting. Witnessing.

“Who came first?” Mark asked. “Me or Z?”

Jinyoung blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Who inspired who?”

The man’s whole demeanor turned. Not able to look at Mark anymore. “Z came about four years ago,” he said. “He was the genesis of the game. He started everything.”

“And me?”

“You?” Jinyoung’s eyes widened.

“When did you imagine me?”

Jinyoung got up, taking the pot to the sink. Starting to wash it. “You became reality at the conference,” he said, simply.

Mark leaned forward, arms folded over the island as he watched his face. “Was Z always Emerson?”

“He was always Emerson,” Jinyoung said. “He wasn’t always Em.”

“When did he become Em?”

“After the conference.”

Mark sat back in his seat. Too many things hitting him at once. Because maybe he’d wondered if the connection would run deeper than that, but part of him assumed that he’d never know. That it would always be a mystery that he kept pursuing with no end. But to hear Jinyoung admit, even in the smallest of terms, smallest of connotations, that those two ideas had any sort of connection. That was enough to have him at a loss for words that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to recover from.

Jinyoung turned off the water, setting the pot to the side. Hands bracing against the sink as he looked straight across the island. Expression more exposed, more intent than ever. “I’m not using you, Mark,” he said firmly. “And I can’t change you. I couldn’t even if I tried.”

Mark’s throat felt suddenly dry, hoarse when he asked, “Why not?”

Jinyoung shook his head. “You can’t change a main character,” he urged. “Once they get stuck in your head, they stay there. They stay stubbornly, frustratingly themselves. Even if they're the last ones to know just how crucial they are. How everyone is just circulating around them. Even the writer himself.”

Mark stared at him. The lines between reality and fiction blurring him again. Going adrift. Lightheaded. Not sure the warmth in his gut could even be attributed to the food, but instead to the way that Jinyoung was looking at him, speaking to him. The implication of his words that was all but there. The pieces coming together with more certainty than ever.

He blinked, shoulders caving together. A tightly wound thread unraveling too quickly. Taking a shaky breath to try and keep himself together. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. _I don’t know why I’m here._ He pursed his lips, not willing to say it. “I’m more tired than I thought.” 

Jinyoung’s eyes softened, nearly sad. He came around, closer to Mark. Reaching for his face. Lifting it upwards and looking into his eyes. Searching them for something. He leaned in, kissing him so gently that Mark felt himself tremble weakly.

Jinyoung pulled away, looking at him again. “Let’s go to bed,” he whispered, voice full of soothing. He grabbed Mark’s hand, drawing him from his seat and twisting their fingers together. Pulling him into the darkened master bedroom. 

He tugged on the hem of Mark’s hoodie. “May I?”

Mark gulped, he nodded. Letting Jinyoung pull it over his head. Feeling more exposed than he’d ever felt.

Jinyoung laid him down, covering the both of them and pulling Mark close. Nuzzling into his back.

Mark’s gaze fixed onto the wall, feeling as the body heat tried to settle every trembling part of him. But his emotions were so much stronger. Overpowering it. Shoulders shaking and lungs seizing and eyes watering.

“Jinyoung,” he choked out. “Are they going to be okay?” 

Jinyoung stirred, leaning up on his elbow to look over at him. “Who?” 

Mark didn’t look at him. Gaze still pinned to the wall as the tears start slipping down his face, seeping into the pillow. “Z. Blue,” he said. “Are they going to hurt each other?” 

“Why would you say that?” Jinyoung asked, sounding shocked.

Mark tried to swallow down his tears, but they kept coming. “It’s just,” he wiped them with the back of his hand, sniffling, but they still came. “Z waited a long time. To exchange names. It meant a lot to him.” 

Everything lay soundless, motionless for a long moment. 

“Mark,” Jinyoung breathed. “I can’t tell you the end.”

“Please,” he wept. “Tell me.” 

Jinyoung touched his shoulder, easing him onto his back. Looking down at him with aching empathy in his eyes. He leaned down, kissing him. More firmly this time. Pulling away to look at him again, fingers wiping at his residual tears, smoothing his hair out of his face. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispered. “I promise.”

Mark looked up at him, admiring every perfect detail of his face. He believed him.

Jinyoung’s thumb brushed against his cheek. “Go to sleep, Em,” he said, laying back down and pulling him close.

Mark’s face fell into the crook of his neck, warm and comforting and safe. Sound echoing in his head. _Em, Em, Em._ Not able to differentiate it from Blue’s voice anymore. Not wanting to either.

\---

Mark was the first one up the next morning, watching Jinyoung sleep on peacefully next to him. He crept out of the bed, pulling on his hoodie and going out into the living room. He started poking around the kitchen, starting up the electric kettle for coffee. And as he waited for the water to boil, he walked over to the windows, looking out over the city. Amazed when he could see the sky. Not a dull gray wash obscuring the sun. But bright blue, cloudless. Brighter than it had been in months.

“You scared me.”

Mark turned, seeing Jinyoung standing in the doorway of the bedroom. His shirt crooked on his shoulders, his hair messy, his hand pressed against his chest like he was trying to calm the race of his heart. But despite that, there was a lopsided smile on his face. Just as bright as the sky outside.

Mark couldn’t help but mirror it. “Why?” he asked.

Jinyoung didn’t answer. Instead, coming closer. Looping an arm around his waist and pulling him closer. Pressing a kiss into his temple. “How did you sleep?” he asked, softly in his ear, kissing there too.

“Better than I thought I would,” he admitted.

Jinyoung’s face drew back, staring as he took a deep breath. He let his hands brush up against Mark’s hoodie. “I like this,” he noted, admiring it.

“Yeah?” Mark smiled, because he liked it too.

“Mhm,” he hummed. “Who gave it to you?”

Mark shrugged, not sure how to explain. “Someone who cares about me.”

Jinyoung grinned, laughing just under his breath. “Well,” he said, hands curling into the collar and drawing Mark closer. “They have good taste.” He leaned in, kissing against his lips.

The electric kettle went off on the counter, pulling them apart. Smiling back at each other. 

“Coffee?” Mark asked, tilting his head towards the kitchen.

“Coffee,” Jinyoung agreed. “But let me make it.”

Mark rolled his eyes, “You know one day, I’m going to get tired of you doing everything for me.”

“Maybe one day,” Jinyoung nodded. “But not today.” He let go of Mark, walking back towards the kitchen. “Take a seat,” he said, motioning to the living room couch. “I’ll bring it to you.”

Mark sighed, following orders and sitting down. Listening to Jinyoung take down coffee mugs from the cupboards. He looked around the living room. Seeing the view that stretched out beyond the windows, the coffee table that sat in front of the couch. Upon it a few thick, hardcover pictorial books. A collection of mid-century architecture. A guide to Joshua Tree National Park. A photography book by someone named Joseph Szabo. Mark shuffled them around on the table, spotting a piece of paper poking out from between the pages of one. He reached for it.

But before he could get to it, Jinyoung was there with two mugs of coffee in his hands. “Here,” he said, handing one to him. 

“Thanks,” Mark smiled, taking it. Warmth spreading through him when their fingers brushed. Bringing the coffee under his nose and smelling it.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Jinyoung said, taking a seat next to him.

“About?”

Jinyoung wasn’t smiling, wasn’t looking at Mark. “The release party,” he said. “Next week.” 

“Oh,” Mark blinked. He had nearly forgotten about it. Mind so cluttered with everything else.

“Were you planning on going?” he asked, fiddling with his own mug.

Mark looked at him, seeing Jinyoung’s apathy as nothing but a thin, flimsy veneer now. Knowing there was something richer, warmer underneath, not unlike the coffee in his hands. “What do you think?” he mused. “Should I?”

Jinyoung cleared his throat. “I mean,” he shrugged. “It’s up to you.”

Mark smiled, taking a sip of coffee. Letting Jinyoung drown in the uncertainty for just a cruel moment. Feeling the man’s eyes follow his movements, not so subtle when he licked the remnants of coffee from his lips. “I think I’ll go,” he nodded.

Jinyoung’s eyes brightened. Looking down into his mug again and drumming his fingers against it for a moment before he set it down onto the table. “We could go together,” he suggested, wiping his hands down his thighs. “If you wanted to.” 

Mark raised an eyebrow, “Oh, you’re asking me this time?” 

Jinyoung’s smile broke, soft and humble against his handsome face. “I guess I am.” 

Mark eyed him as he took another long sip of coffee. Feeling the caffeine spike his heart. At least, that’s what he was willing to shift the blame to. He set his mug down as well, smacking his lips. “Okay,” he agreed, meeting Jinyoung’s eyes. “But you’ll need to find me something to wear.”

Jinyoung smiled, eyes crescenting. “So,” he sighed. “Does this mean you won’t quit your contract?” 

Mark laughed. “No,” he confirmed. “I’m not quitting.”

Jinyoung lunged forward, pushing Mark over onto the couch and crawling over him. Grabbing his wrists and pinning them over his head as he left a smattering of kisses across his cheeks, his nose, his mouth, his neck.

Mark couldn’t help but howl with laughter, going lightheaded, delirious from the lack of oxygen. Not able to remember the last time he laughed like this. And while his body, his chest, his heart were loud and wild, his head was quiet, no audible doubt or fear echoing back. Hoping that the coldest night of winter was behind them and there was nothing to look forward to but a beautiful, peaceful spring.


End file.
